Murder of an Open Book

by Denise Swanson

  They’d made the short trip in silence, but once they entered the house, Wally had returned to obsessing about McCabe’s behavior. As she guided Wally into the kitchen, Skye continued to reassure him that she was okay. She continued to tell him that she was fine while she transferred his dinner to a plate, placed a plastic dome over it, and slid it into the microwave.

  Wally was probably overreacting because of her pregnancy, but she was worried that her new husband was about to have an aneurysm. Pushing him onto a kitchen chair, she fetched a Sam Adams from the refrigerator and handed him an opener along with the beer.

  He viciously levered off the cap and downed a quarter of the bottle in one gulp. The bright fuchsia of his complexion faded to a dull brick and he said, “To misquote Clarence Darrow, I’ve never killed a man, but I sure would read McCabe’s obituary with great pleasure.”

  Skye laughed, then repeated for the fiftieth time, “Truly, it was no big deal.” She snickered. “And the look on his face when you stomped in reminded me of a bulldog that had just swallowed a wasp.”

  “What stirred up the little polecat anyway?”

  “He’s not a fan of women’s equality.” Skye poured herself a caffeine-free Diet Coke.

  “Huh?” Wally loosened his tie. “You two were discussing equal rights?”

  “Not exactly.” The microwave beeped, and Skye checked to see if the chicken and potatoes were hot. Satisfied, she put the dish in front of Wally and turned back to get the bottle of ketchup from the fridge.

  “So?” Wally poured Heinz over his French fries, then bit into a leg.

  “McCabe’s upset you hired Zelda and not him when there was an opening.” Skye stole a fry. She seemed to be hungry all the time. “I’m not real clear why he’s ticked off that I’m the psych consultant, since I’m pretty darn sure he couldn’t do that job.”

  “He’s been bugging me to hire him now that Zuchowski’s gone and there’s another slot open.” Wally scratched his head. “I know McCabe’s not the sharpest crayon in the box, but I didn’t think he was completely cracked. Did he really think manhandling my wife would move his application to the top of the pile?”

  “I doubt thinking had anything to do with it.” Skye grabbed the Styrofoam container of coleslaw and Wally’s fork and took a bite. Okay. She really needed to stop eating. “If the odor from his breath was any indication, McCabe was drunker than a frat boy on spring break.”

  “That’s no excuse.” Wally threw down the leg bone and picked up the thigh. “I just never thought he was quite that stupid.”

  “You know,” Skye said, staring longingly at Wally’s plate, then mentally giving herself a shake, “there’s always one more imbecile than you counted on.”

  “Well, I do have to give McCabe credit for spotting the arsonist we’ve been after. Banjo shaved off his hair, grew a beard, and put on twenty pounds since his last mug shot.”

  “Did he confess?” Skye asked, snatching a piece of crispy chicken skin.

  “Not yet.” Wally finished the thigh and started on the breast. “But he’s got a rap sheet a mile long for torching buildings, and he was seen in the area of a couple of the fires, so I’m sure he’s good for them.”

  “Great.” Skye yawned. It had been a long day, but she needed to let Wally know about her evening at the Feed Bag, because someone else was bound to tell him if she didn’t. “Oh. Before I forget. You’re going to hear that I had dinner with Simon tonight.”

  “Oh?” Wally’s eyebrows formed an angry V over his nose. “Do tell.”

  “I was there alone,” Skye explained. “But when Emmy showed up, all the tables were full. She asked to join me, and I couldn’t exactly say no.”

  “Though you would have liked to.” Wally’s gaze was perceptive.

  “Maybe,” Skye mumbled, her cheeks pink. She wasn’t proud that she was jealous of the gorgeous dancer. “Anyway, it turned out that Simon had stood her up for a date, but she put something on the computer that made him come rushing over, so he had coffee while we ate.”

  “It sounds like Emmy has him running around in circles.” Wally chuckled.

  “I’d say so. And it was really fun to see it.” Skye grinned, then added, “But the reason he canceled their date is the most interesting part. Blair Hucksford’s family set up an appointment to Skype with Simon regarding her funeral arrangements.”

  “Why is that so interesting?” Wally pushed away his empty plate.

  “Because the reason it had to be tonight was that their attorney was leaving the country for several weeks and he needed to be present.” Skye tipped her head. “They told Simon the lawyer needed to be a part of the discussion because of something to do with Blair’s estate.”

  “Son of a buck!” Wally slammed his hand down on the table. “I specifically asked about the vic’s will, and her parents denied any knowledge.”

  “So either they lied to you,” Skye murmured, “or they weren’t aware of the issue at the time you spoke to them.”

  “Speaking of Blair’s family, did you get ahold of her sister?”

  “Shoot!” Now Skye hit her forehead with her palm. “I forgot all about it. I’ll call her during my break at noon tomorrow. That will be ten o’clock in California. If she’s the school secretary, that should be an ideal time to talk to her—after the first bell and before the lunch craziness starts.”

  “See if you can find out anything about Blair’s estate from the sister.” Wally got up from the table, scraped his plate into the trash, then put it the sink and turned on the hot water. “I’ll do the same with her folks.”

  Skye followed Wally upstairs. They were both beat. It had been a long, hard day, and tomorrow probably wouldn’t be any easier. A little reading and cuddling in bed, and they’d be ready to go to sleep.

  She changed into her nightgown, then went into the bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth. Wally turned on the shower, then leaned against the counter while he waited for the water to heat up.

  “What did you get from the teacher and student interviews? You said you’d tell me more tonight,” Skye asked as she put away her toothbrush and recapped the paste.

  “There’s not much more to tell. The vic didn’t have any fans on the faculty,” Wally said, stepping under the spray. “And although the members of the volleyball team all said the right things and Roxy maintained that she was not arguing with her coach, there’s something they’re not talking about. It almost felt like they had Stockholm syndrome.”

  “I saw those same girls earlier in the day.” Skye rubbed her chin. “And now that you mention it, there was an odd vibe. I can’t be specific due to confidentiality, but I definitely got the feeling that there was something causing a schism among the players.”

  “I understand you can’t name names, but let me go through my notes and see if I can pick out the ones on opposite sides.” Wally adjusted the water temperature. “Once I narrow it down, I’d like to have you sit in on the interviews tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Hmm.” Skye hesitated. Was it ethical for her to do that after establishing a counseling relationship? It wasn’t as if she were seeing any of them individually or that they’d revealed any deep, dark personal secrets in the forty-five-minute group session. “I’ll have to make it clear to the girls that this is a different setting and I’m not acting as their school psychologist.”

  “Sure,” Wally agreed.

  “Speaking of relationships and teachers . . .” Skye raised her voice so Wally could hear her as he shampooed and then rinsed out his hair. “What’s this I hear about Thor Goodson being missing? Why didn’t you mention that when I saw you at school earlier today?”

  “Opal reported that he took a personal day, and he’s not answering his phone.” Wally picked up a bar of soap and lathered his chest. “Quirk went to his apartment, and his roommate said that Goodson went hiking near Starv
ed Rock. Evidently, he often does that when he’s upset. There’s spotty cell coverage in that park area, so I asked the rangers to keep an eye out for him up there. I left a message with his roommate for him to call the PD as soon as he gets back.”

  “But nothing as of eight thirty, when we left the station?” she asked. As he stepped out of the shower stall, Wally shook his head, and Skye added, “I’m guessing he’s a prime suspect, so if he doesn’t check in soon, you’ll put out an APB for him and his car.”

  “Right.” Wally snagged a towel from the rack. “I wish we had his prints. Too bad the Illinois State Board of Education doesn’t require teachers to submit a Fingerprint Clearance Card.” Wally finished drying and pulled on a pair of sleep pants. “If Goodson doesn’t show up by tomorrow, he changes from a person of interest to number one on my list of possible murderers.”

  * * *

  It was a good thing that the alarm in Bingo’s stomach went off, because the one on the nightstand didn’t. The cat’s persistent meowing broke through Skye’s nightmare, and she struggled to surface from the awful dream. It took her several minutes to fight her way to full consciousness, and her head still felt as if it were wrapped in cotton batting when she staggered into the bathroom, turned on the shower, and stripped off her nightgown.

  What had she been dreaming? She had a vague impression of a computer monitor with arms reaching out toward her, trying to pull her into the screen, but that was it. As she dried her hair and put on her makeup, Skye kept trying to recall the details of the nightmare, but finally gave up. Whatever had been scaring her had evaporated like dewdrops in the hot morning sun.

  Slipping into a comfortable pair of black knit slacks, a tunic, and flat shoes, Skye chuckled. Most people dressed for success, but she had to dress for recess. She was going to the elementary school today, where she was often called out to the playground to observe a behavior not seen in the classroom, and she had ruined one too many outfits when she’d had to sit on a dirty swing or kneel on the grass to interact with a student.

  By the time she was ready to go, Wally was awake and in uniform. He looked as foggy as she felt, and they were mute as they went downstairs and headed toward the coffeemaker. While it was perking, Skye fed Bingo and gave him fresh water.

  As soon as she had discovered that she was pregnant, Wally had taken over cleaning the litter box. While he performed that chore, Skye put two English muffins in the toaster and took peanut butter from the cabinet and marmalade out of the refrigerator. This was her second day without morning sickness, and she’d woken up starving.

  It was fortunate that she no longer felt queasy, because she wasn’t sure when she’d be able to face the high school pool. She might have to wait for the weather to warm up enough to swim at the recreation club before she was ready to venture into the water again.

  Wally returned from the utility room, washed his hands, and fixed himself a bowl of cereal. Skye poured cups of coffee for them both, and they sipped in companionable silence, waiting for the caffeine to take effect.

  She had asked her obstetrician whether she could continue to drink coffee, and the doctor had assured her that as long as she limited her intake to less than two hundred milligrams per day—or one medium cup of coffee—it was fine. Good thing she already drank caffeine-free soda.

  “What are your plans for today?” Skye asked after they had finished their breakfast and she was piling their dishes in the sink.

  “Talk to Mr. and Mrs. Hucksford.” Wally transferred the last of the coffee into a travel mug and put the carafe in with the rest of the dirty plates. “Bring in Thor Goodson for a conversation and go over Martinez’s report. She and Quirk searched the vic’s house yesterday.”

  “And you want me to come by after school to help with the student interviews?”

  Skye checked the kitchen one more time to make sure it was tidy. Today was Dorothy’s day to work for them, and although Skye knew it was silly to clean before the housekeeper arrived, she didn’t want her mother’s friend to think they were slobs. Or, worse yet, report that information to May.

  “Unless you don’t feel well enough or are too tired.” Wally took her in his arms and kissed her on the cheek. “You and the baby come first, but if you’re up to it, that would be very helpful.”

  “I feel great.” Skye headed down the hallway toward the front door. “But I might need some doughnuts or maybe a cupcake from Tales and Treats. No.” She licked her lips. “Make it one of Orlando’s famous cranberry and white chocolate scones.”

  The sound of Wally’s laughter followed Skye out the front door, and he continued to tease her about her newly insatiable appetite until he dropped her at the PD so she could pick up her car. She still had a smile on her face when she arrived at the elementary school for their weekly PPS conference.

  After the meeting, Skye spent a couple of hours administering various evaluations to a second grader who, despite a high average score on a group intelligence test, was having difficulty with the academics. She had observed the boy in his classroom, and his attention and behavior were fine. So now, as she asked him various questions from the individual IQ assessment, she was looking for any hint of a learning disability.

  Skye made sure he was focused and then read, “How can you delay milk from turning sour?”

  “Keep it in the cow.”

  She hid a smile, wrote down his response, and asked the next question. “Explain one of the processes by which water can be made safe to drink.”

  “Flirtation makes water safe to drink,” the boy answered. “It removes the large pollutants like sand, gravel, and fishermen.”

  Skye blinked, made another note, and went on. This child definitely had a unique way of thinking.

  When she finished with the student, Skye checked her watch. She had just enough time to call Blair’s sister before she had to be at the junior high for a parent consultation.

  Sitting in her car, Skye dug through her purse until she found the paper with the woman’s number. Powering up her cell, she made the call.

  “Hucksford Christian Academy, how may I assist you?” a cheerful voice chirped in Skye’s ear.

  “Is this Bernadette?” Skye asked, realizing she hadn’t planned what to say and didn’t know the woman’s married name.

  “Yes, it is.” Bernadette’s tone was cautious. “And who is this?”

  “My name is Skye Denison-Boyd. I worked with your sister at Scumble River High School. I’m the psychologist there.” Skye hesitated, unsure what to say next. Finally, she just dived in with, “I’m so sorry for your and your family’s loss. It must be very difficult to be so far away when you lose a loved one so tragically.”

  “Thank you,” Bernadette answered slowly. “We’re still in shock.”

  “I can imagine.” Skye contemplated how she’d feel if it were her brother, Vince, who had been murdered. “Were you and Blair close?”

  “We used to be.” Bernadette’s voice broke. “Before she went to college.”

  “I’m curious as to why she went to an Illinois university when she was from California.” Skye had wondered how Blair had chosen SWIU.

  “Southwest Illinois University offered her a volleyball scholarship.” Bernadette’s tone hardened. “Father begged her not to go there.”

  “Why’s that?” Skye asked. “Because she would be so far away?”

  “Well, of course that was one consideration, but more importantly, he didn’t want her to spend four years in a heathen institution.”

  “I see.” Skye knew that SWIU had a reputation as a party school, but she suspected that wasn’t Mr. Hucksford’s concern. “I’m surprised Blair didn’t return to California once she got her degree. Scumble River is a small town, and most of our teachers grow up somewhere fairly close by. Few are from out of state.”

  “By then Father had disowned her,” Bernadette said sa
dly. “The apostate influences had corrupted her, and her behavior was no longer Christian.”

  “In what way?” Skye asked.

  “Why did you say you were calling?” Bernadette asked, a note of suspicion creeping into her voice.

  “As I said, I’m a school psychologist.” Skye took a breath. Clearly, the woman was losing patience, so it was now or never. “But I also work as a consultant for the police department. I’m helping to investigate your sister’s murder. And we need to know what Blair did that was so heinous that your father washed his hands of her.”

  “She turned into an exhibitionistic pervert.” Bernadette spit out the words as if they tasted like ashes. “Someone who was willing to sell her soul because of a stupid game.”

  CHAPTER 17

  TTYL—Talk to You Later

  Skye stared at her cell phone. Bernadette had muttered good-bye and hung up before Skye could ask anything else, so she’d never gotten to introduce the subject of her sister’s estate. And what had the woman meant by Blair selling her soul for the game? She might have been referring to her sister attending a secular university versus a Christian institution. But what exactly had Blair done that made her an “exhibitionistic pervert”? Were the SWIU volleyball uniforms that immodest?

  Glancing at the dashboard clock, Skye saw that it was nearly twelve forty-five. She didn’t have time to think about her conversation with Bernadette right now or her mysterious statement. Skye had a meeting at the junior high at one, and the principal had requested that she come ten minutes before the appointment so that they could talk before the parent arrived.

  Skye hurriedly started up the Bel Air and drove over to the middle school. She parked in the first available spot, grabbed her tote bag, and ran for the front walk. After signing in at the counter, she flew past Ursula, the school secretary, and dashed into the principal’s office.

  Neva Llewellyn narrowed her eyes as Skye rushed through the door. Crossing her arms, she demanded, “Did Homer have another emergency? It’s extremely unfair the way he monopolizes your services. He almost always gets your extra half day, and he often steals time from the rest of us.”