Murder of a Sleeping Beauty

by Denise Swanson

  “Hurry.”

  The line went dead in Skye’s hand. Opal was still busy answering phones. Through the open door to the health room, Skye could see the coach with a receiver in one hand and an aggrieved expression on his face as he grunted into the mouthpiece. It made her whole day to see that man actually work.

  Homer was still with the co-op coordinator when Skye entered his office. She explained the situation at the grade school and suggested that the principal sit in on the rest of the chief’s interviews with their students.

  As Skye talked, the coordinator stood and picked up his briefcase. “Well, Homer,” he said, “looks like things here are under control. I’ve got to get going.”

  “Since you’re leaving, could you drop me at the elementary school on your way?” Skye asked.

  A look of annoyance crossed the man’s face. “Are you ready to leave now? I’ve got an important meeting at one.”

  “Just let me grab my purse. I’ll meet you in the parking lot. What kind of car do you drive?”

  “A red Corvette.”

  Somehow his answer didn’t surprise her.

  After a brief stop in the grade school’s office, Skye went directly to Linette Ingels’s fifth-grade classroom. The teacher and principal were each surrounded by several students. Other kids were wandering around the room. The children were talking excitedly in loud, high-pitched voices.

  Skye whispered in the principal’s ear, “Shall I take over?”

  Caroline nodded, and eased out of the grasp of several girls. The teacher took the signal and followed suit.

  Skye raised her voice. “Hi, I’m Ms. Denison, and I work at this school. One of my jobs is to help kids who are feeling bad. Anybody here feeling sort of bad or sad?” She knew she had to build some rapport with this age level before talking directly about Lorelei’s death.

  Two-thirds of the students raised their hands, as did their teacher, who smiled wearily.

  “Okay. Let’s sit on the carpet in a circle.” Skye eased onto the floor. “I know many of you talked to Linette last night. A lot of times when something happens that makes us feel sad, it helps to talk to other people about it. I’ll bet that’s why Linette called you.”

  A girl with long red curls bounced up onto her knees. “Linette said her sister died, but we don’t believe it.”

  Skye saw several nodding heads. Good. The little girl had given her the opening she needed to talk about Lorelei’s death. “Why don’t you believe Linette?”

  “She tells stories,” the redhead answered.

  “I see.” Skye tucked that info away for later examination. “Well, I’m sorry to say she’s telling the truth this time. Lorelei did die yesterday.”

  A timid voice asked, “At school?”

  “Yes, but that is very unusual. You don’t have to worry about that happening to you, or anyone else you know.” Skye said a silent prayer that she was telling the truth.

  The kids fell quiet.

  “How many of you knew Lorelei?” Skye asked.

  More hands than she expected were raised.

  “Wow. Did you meet her playing at Linette’s?”

  A boy in the back answered, “Nah, she came to class one day, and showed us her crown and junk when she got to be Miss Stanley County. She looked like a princess in a fairy tale.”

  One of the girls chimed in, “Linette is going to win that same pageant sometime. She’s already won two more than Lorelei did at her age.”

  Skye decided to walk the mile or so back to the high school rather than waste time looking for a ride. It was a clear day, and the temperature had finally broken out of the forties. Birds twittered from telephone wires, and the slight breeze smelled of spring. She barely noticed either the buds on the trees or the cracks on the sidewalk. Her mind kept turning over everything she had heard that morning.

  It bothered her that no one seemed to be very sad about Lorelei’s death. People were upset, but more about the passing of an eighteen-year-old in general than Lorelei specifically. She seemed almost more of a symbol than a person.

  Skye glanced at her watch; the day was getting away from her. She still had to find the girl from this morning who said she hated Lorelei. The girl needed to be turned over to the police, but Skye wanted a chance to talk to her first. She also wanted to touch base with Justin. Being present when a body was discovered couldn’t be good for that boy’s fragile mental health.

  About a block from the school, Skye heard yelling and screaming. As she got nearer, she saw police cruisers with their lights on and civilian cars parked everywhere—even in the sacred bus lane.

  Skye edged her way up the steps through a mob of people. Stanley County deputies guarded the doors.

  She tried to step around them and was told, “You can’t go in there, Miss.”

  “I work here. I’m the school psychologist.”

  “Do you have any ID?”

  “Nothing that shows I work here.”

  “No faculty card?”

  “I wasn’t in this building the day they took the pictures.” Skye was feeling desperate. “I’m assigned to all the Scumble River schools. Just step inside and ask the principal.”

  “Sorry. We can’t leave the door.”

  Skye fumbled in her purse and found her Illinois School Psychologists Association membership card, her National Association of School Psychologists membership card, and her Nationally Certified School Psychologist card. She pressed these into the officer’s hand.

  After studying them closely, he said, “Okay, you can go in.”

  She always knew that belonging to ISPA, NASP, and NCSP was important, although this wasn’t what she’d had in mind when she joined.

  The officer opened the door a sliver, and she squeezed inside. Homer pounced on her as she popped through. Immediately, she wished she hadn’t tried so hard to get back to work.

  “Good. You’re finally here. Where were you? The secretary at the grade school said you left twenty minutes ago.”

  “I walked.”

  “Bad time to take an afternoon stroll.” Homer dug his finger between his collar and neck. “We’ve got parents up the wazoo.”

  “How did they get in, with all the police surrounding the place?”

  “These are the ones that got here before we called the cops.”

  “Oh.” Skye let the confusion show on her face. “And why did you have to call the police?”

  “They were out of control. They wouldn’t sit quietly and take turns talking. Worst of all, they refused to move their cars from the bus lane.” The principal raised alarmed eyes. “The transportation director will kill me if I don’t get those vehicles out of the way.”

  “I know this isn’t the time, but I’ve always wondered why everything in the school revolves around the buses. Is the bus company owned by the mob or something?”

  Homer paled. “The superintendent has ordered us never to discuss the transportation contract.”

  “Okaaay.” Skye lengthened the word and narrowed her eyes. Another mystery to look into sometime. “What’s your strategy?”

  “Ah . . . that is . . . why don’t we go with your plan this time?”

  She took a deep breath and counted to ten. Homer found it easy to criticize others, but he always froze the minute he had to take action himself. “It’s not even two yet, so we have more than ninety minutes before the buses arrive.” Skye paused to gather her thoughts. “Use the PA to do an all-call announcement, saying that any cars that are not parked in legal spots within the next ten minutes will be towed. Then call the mayor.”

  At the look of apprehension on the principal’s face she changed her tack.

  “Come to think of it, the best thing to do is call Charlie. Have him call the mayor and ask for the city tow truck.”

  “That sounds good. How about the parents?”

  “What are they here for?”

  “You had me call them,” Homer answered.

  “You called all of them?” Sk
ye asked. “I only wanted you to call the half dozen or so parents of the students being questioned by the police.”

  “That’s who I called. The rest came to support their friends and relatives, or in a panic over their own children, or out of morbid curiosity.”

  “Is Chief Boyd still interviewing students?”

  “Nope, he talked to four or five after you left, and a couple of faculty members, then left about an hour ago.”

  She chewed her bottom lip. “Also announce that Wally and his officers have left the building, and that no students are currently being questioned by police. Ask everyone to leave unless they have urgent business with school personnel. Have them get a number from Opal, and tell them you and I will see them in order.”

  Homer looked skeptical. “Why should they listen now? They haven’t been listening to me for the last couple of hours.”

  “Two reasons. Their cars are about to be towed, and by using the number system, we pit them against each other. It’ll be competitive—who can get the best numbers.”

  The principal didn’t look convinced, but he moved off to follow Skye’s directions.

  Skye took a quick scan of the hall. No more parents. Good. She really needed to see some kids, but every time she ventured out of her office a parent grabbed her. She checked her watch. Damn. Only half an hour of school left. Which student should she talk to first? Who would know the identity of the girl she needed to see? Justin. For someone on the fringes, he seemed to know a lot about what the other kids were up to—if he’d talk.

  She had Opal send for him and waited in the guidance office. It was beginning to feel like home. I wonder how I could get Homer to let me have this room permanently. She eyed the rows and rows of metal filing cabinets and the big old wooden desk. Coach has an office in the gym. He really doesn’t need two.

  Justin walked in as Skye was admiring the comfy leather chair. As usual, he didn’t say anything.

  Skye greeted him and asked him to sit. “Quite a day yesterday, huh?”

  “Yeah.”

  She was encouraged. At least he had verbalized an answer. “I noticed you stuck around the cafeteria this morning after most of the kids left. Were you close to Lorelei?”

  He shrugged. “Nah. Better than going to class.”

  “Do you know the girl who said she hated Lorelei?”

  “Sure, that’s Frannie Ryan.”

  Skye was surprised by Justin’s willingness to answer. Could it be that this incident had actually been good for him? Maybe it was helping him to be less self-absorbed. “So, are you okay about yesterday?”

  Justin looked at her blankly.

  “I mean about finding Lorelei like that, and talking to the police and everything.”

  Another shrug. “No biggie.”

  Skye waited to see if he would add anything. After several minutes, she said, “I guess you better go back to class before the bell rings, so you can get your books.”

  Justin levered himself out of the chair. He put his hand on the doorknob and turned. “You know, Ms. Denison, one thing I figured out from yesterday is that even someone who seems perfect is probably more messed up than you’d think.”

  Wow, Justin had spent time and effort thinking about someone other than himself. That was real progress. Before Skye could formulate a response he was out the door.

  In a counseling session, the last few words as the client left the room were usually the most significant. Justin must have been referring to Lorelei. But how had Sleeping Beauty been messed up?

  The bell rang as Skye was noting Justin’s statement in his file. She pulled her appointment book from her purse and flipped to the next day’s page. She penciled in Elvira Doozier at eight, followed by Frannie Ryan at nine, then added Zoë VanHorn, Troy Yates, Farrah Miles, and Caresse and Chase Wren. It would be a full day.

  Skye stood and stretched. She needed to talk to the social workers the co-op had sent, debrief Trixie and Abby, and check to see when the body would be released. And if there was time, she also wanted to question Trixie about the cheerleader meeting Zoë had mentioned, and ask Kent about the Sleeping Beauty rehearsal.

  She had set up the co-op social workers in the band room. She was impressed by their ingenuity. They had shoved most of the chairs and music stands into the center of the room, and arranged portable bulletin boards on either side, giving them each privacy.

  “I see you guys are old hands at this.” Skye gestured to their construction.

  The male social worker nodded. “Too much so. Seems like we’re called in to do crisis counseling more and more often.”

  “We really appreciate your help.” Skye looked over to the woman to include her. “I’m here by myself.”

  “No problem.” The woman picked up two sheets of yellow legal paper. “Here’s a list of who we saw, our impressions, and suggestions for follow-up.”

  “Thanks. This is great.” Skye looked over the names, about twenty in all.

  “You should send this out to these kids’ parents.” The man handed her a sheaf of photocopied forms. “It tells them we talked to their child. You can check one of the boxes on the bottom as to what, if any, follow-up is recommended.”

  “I can’t thank you enough.” Skye was overwhelmed. It was so nice to have help, not to have to think of everything herself.

  The two social workers gathered their belongings. The woman said, “There doesn’t seem to be a need for us to come back, but if the situation changes, call us and we’ll be right here.”

  Skye shook both their hands. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

  As they walked toward the entrance the man turned to her. “You really do need to get a crisis-intervention plan in place. I’ll put an outline in the mail to you tomorrow.”

  “Great.” Skye waved. “Thanks again.” For a moment she almost believed she saw halos around their heads. Of course, it was just the afternoon sun shining through the outer door . . . wasn’t it?

  Clutching the papers they had given her, Skye went in search of Trixie and Abby. Staff were required to stay half an hour after the dismissal bell. Skye had five minutes to find them.

  They were together in the IMC, formerly known as the library. Both women clutched cans of Pepsi. Abby was sprawled in one of the few upholstered seats. Her white-blond hair cascaded over the chair’s back; a tanned hand was laid across her eyes. Trixie sat on the counter, her short, compact body bent at the waist as she clasped her knees.

  Abby greeted Skye as she entered the room with, “I’m never doing this again. My throat hurts, and my head is pounding.”

  “It really was a lot harder than you said, Skye,” Trixie chimed in. She ran her fingers through her short brown hair. “We don’t have the training.”

  “Well, I really appreciate your pitching in. And I understand how hard it is. But unfortunately . . .”

  Abby straightened, her aquamarine eyes narrowed. Trixie jumped down from the counter. They both said, “What . . .”

  “Sorry.” Skye ran a finger around her suddenly tight collar. Trixie and Abby didn’t know the half of it . . . yet. “But we’ll need to draw up a crisis strategy. Now that you two have some experience, it’s logical for you to be included in that plan.”

  “How could you do that to us?” Abby advanced on Skye. “We only did this as a favor to you.”

  Trixie closed in from the other side. “You wouldn’t do this to your best friend, would you?”

  “Sorry. Trying to make me feel like this is my fault won’t work. You both know my mom. May is a certified travel agent for guilt trips. In comparison to her, you two haven’t even gotten your learner’s permits yet.”

  Abby and Trixie muttered ominously under their breath and moved closer to Skye.

  When she realized she was being backed into the circulation desk, Skye offered words of appeasement. “Don’t worry. You won’t be in this alone. Scumble River High has a lot of caring teachers who often aren’t noticed because the bad ones get all the at
tention. I’m sure we’ll get plenty of volunteers, so no one will have the entire responsibility on his or her shoulders.”

  “You’d better be right.” Trixie was now knee to knee with Skye. “Because if I have to go through this again, I’m putting that picture of you and the goat in the school paper.”

  Skye cringed. She knew the photo Trixie meant. When they were twelve their Girl Scout troop had visited a petting zoo, and a huge goat had developed a crush on Skye. He had followed her everywhere, finally butting her to the ground and standing guard over her so she couldn’t get up.

  “And I have a picture Vince gave me while we were dating. It’s you and him attending your junior prom. How would you like everyone reminded that the only escort you could get to the dance was your brother?” Abby leaned in from the other side until they were nose to nose, and said, “Now, you were saying that Trixie and I had done our part, and you’d get someone else for the next crisis, right?”

  “Right,” Skye mumbled.

  CHAPTER 6

  Sweetness and Slight

  Ms. Denison, Ms. Denison.” A high-pitched fake-sounding drawl shot through Skye’s aching head. Her hand was inches from the knob of the office door when she turned. “Yes? May I help you?”

  “I’m Priscilla VanHorn, Zoë’s mother. Do you have a minute?” The overblown redhead wore a dress that looked as if it were made out of leftover wallpaper that had been poorly hung.

  “Sure. Let’s use the health office.” Skye ushered the woman through the main door and into a small room to the left.

  Skye took the seat behind the desk, forcing Mrs. VanHorn to perch on the vinyl cot. “Now, what can I do for you?”

  “I’m concerned about my daughter. I understand you were with her when that awful police chief interrogated her?” The woman raised her voice at the end of her statement, making it sound like a question.

  “Yes, but I wouldn’t say he interrogated her. He asked her a few questions—mostly trying to get a picture of Lorelei’s last few hours.” Skye wasn’t sure where this was going.