Murder of a Sleeping Beauty

by Denise Swanson

  CHAPTER 8

  Sin and Bare It

  Skye didn’t have any time to recover from the session with Frannie before Troy Yates, Lorelei’s boyfriend, arrived. The blond Adonis with a buzz haircut strode into the office as if he owned the place and was considering selling it.

  He nodded at Skye and sat. “You wanted to see me, Ms. D.?”

  “Yes, I wanted to check and see how you were today. Sometimes a loss doesn’t hit a person right away.” Skye noticed the boy sat perfectly straight in his chair.

  “I can’t believe she’s gone.”

  “Had you been dating long?”

  “We’ve gone steady since eighth grade.” He dug his wallet out of his pocket. “These are pictures of us at every dance.”

  Skye shuffled through the small pile of photos. “They’re wonderful.” She handed them back to Troy. “Were you planning on attending the same college?”

  A cloud crossed Troy’s face. “I’m going to Notre Dame on a football scholarship. Lorelei tried to get into their theater department, but she didn’t make the cut.”

  “Did she have backup plans?”

  He shrugged. “She didn’t like to talk about it.”

  “No, I imagine that would be a difficult subject for someone who’s used to winning.”

  Troy nodded and launched into a story about Lorelei and a game of Trivial Pursuit. Skye made encouraging sounds, and the teen reminisced for the rest of the period.

  Skye noticed they were almost out of time, and said, “Troy, do you think you need to talk to someone a few more times about Lorelei’s death?” During his talk about their past he’d seemed sad, but not devastated. Of course, with adolescents it wasn’t always easy to tell how they really felt. They often put on a cool demeanor that covered up their real feelings, sometimes even from themselves.

  “No, I think I’m okay.”

  “If you change your mind, leave a note for me with the secretary.” Skye pointed toward the main office.

  “Okay.”

  “Just a couple more things. Was Lorelei in the habit of bringing bottled beverages from home?”

  “No, we’re not supposed to bring any drinks into school except milk.”

  “And she never tried to sneak something in?” Skye had always thought this was one of those stupid, unenforceable edicts that small schools seemed to love. She knew the truth behind this particular policy—Scumble River High got a kickback from the milk vendor.

  “No, ma’am. Lorelei wasn’t one to break the rules.”

  Skye hated being called “ma’am.” It made her feel older than dirt and half as attractive. “Where were you Wednesday, during seventh and eighth period?”

  “Study hall and baseball practice.”

  “Does Chase Wren play on your team?”

  “Sure. We’re in all the sports together.”

  “Was he there Wednesday?” Skye had a sudden inspiration to ask.

  “No. And Coach was mad.”

  Mmm. Chase hadn’t shown up for either of the activities he was scheduled for. Skye made a note to follow up on that.

  As soon as Troy’s session ended, Skye scooted out of her office to make sure things elsewhere were running smoothly. When she stuck her head around the corner of the band room, the co-op social worker gave her a thumbs-up.

  In the library, Trixie was deep into a conversation with a student. Skye didn’t want to interrupt, so she wasn’t able to ask about the cheerleading meeting, as she had planned to.

  Since she heard no sobbing or screaming in the building, she concluded the situation was under control and went back to her office.

  Zoë strolled in nearly ten minutes after the bell rang. By rights she should have been issued a detention, but Skye was in an awkward position. Follow the school rules to the letter or establish rapport?

  “I hope you’re okay,” Skye said, as Zoë took a seat. “I was worried when the bell rang and you weren’t here.”

  “I had to fix my eyeliner. It had totally smudged.”

  “Were you upset about Lorelei?” Skye wondered if maybe the tough act was just a veneer, and Zoë really was grieving over the other girl’s death.

  The teen looked surprised. “No. We were cooking in Home Ec today, and that old-maid teacher made us chop onions rather than use the food processor. She has no concept that hers isn’t the only class, that I have to look good for the rest of the day, too.”

  “Oh, your mom dropped by yesterday afternoon and said you were very upset.”

  “Yeah, well, things change.” Zoë slouched in her seat.

  “So, you don’t need to talk about Lorelei’s death?”

  “I don’t need a shrink, if that’s what you mean.” Zoë straightened. “Listen, between you and me, our mutual-admiration society was screeching to a halt.”

  “You and Lorelei were fighting?”

  “No. Like they say in court, irreconcilable differences. She was starting to bring the group down. She bagged on a bunch of parties.”

  “Oh.”

  “We were going to different cheerleading camps this summer and different colleges in the fall. We were, like, drifting.”

  “One last question and I’ll let you go.” Skye studied the teen. “Did Lorelei bring any beverage in a bottle to school?”

  “No. She was always trying to get rid of water weight, so she didn’t drink much of anything.”

  “Okay. Well, if you change your mind about talking to someone, leave me a note.”

  Zoë paused at the door. “Can I be blunt with you?”

  A voice inside her head was yelling no, but Skye’s curiosity made her say, “Yes.”

  “FYI about your clothes. Whatever kind of look you were going for . . . you missed.”

  The door closed behind the teen. Skye gazed down at her navy pin-striped skirt and vest, and wondered where she had gone wrong.

  After a delicious lunch of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich—she really had to go grocery shopping—Skye saw Farrah Miles and Caresse Wren, the other two cheerleaders.

  It was hard to keep straight which was which. They both wore their cheerleading uniforms, had straight blond hair and blue eyes. They both had been in study hall Wednesday during seventh and eighth periods, and neither remembered Lorelei with a bottled drink in school. And they both managed to cry without ruining their elaborate eye makeup. Skye was impressed. At least they showed some emotions about their friend’s death.

  Skye’s last appointment for the day was with Chase Wren. He sauntered into her office and ran his eyes up and down her body. She immediately hit the record button on the small tape player she kept in her top drawer. She usually used it so she wouldn’t have to take notes, but in some cases it was good to have an exact record of what transpired.

  Chase was cast from the same mold as Troy, but made of inferior materials. His hair wasn’t quite as golden, his muscles were overdeveloped, and when he opened his mouth, it was obvious he had been shorted in the brains department, too.

  “So, Chase, I just wanted to check and see how things were going with you today.”

  “Huh? Okay, I guess. Why?”

  “Well, you were a friend of Lorelei’s, and I wanted to see if you were upset by her death,” Skye explained slowly, trying to use one-syllable words he could understand.

  “Gee, that was real sad. But we got to go on. That’s what Coach and Mr. Walker say.”

  “Speaking of Coach and Mr. Walker, on Wednesday you didn’t show up for rehearsal or practice. Where were you?”

  Chase screwed up his face. “Do I gotta tell you?”

  “No, not if you’d rather not. I thought it might help to tell me first, so you have a little practice before Chief Boyd asks you.”

  The big teen was silent for a moment before saying, “Look, I ain’t never said I was a genius. I know I’m no Delbert Feinstein, but I’m going to graduate this year, no matter how many semesters it takes.

  “I see.” Skye tried to follow the athlete’s
convoluted thinking.

  “So, I’m not doing so good in math, so my teacher tutors me during seventh hour, and that day we ran over into eighth without noticing. But I don’t want the other guys to know I need help.”

  “I’ll make sure that doesn’t get around,” Skye vowed. “I have one more question. Have you ever noticed Lorelei with a bottle of water or juice or something at school?”

  “Nah, that chick followed all the rules.”

  As the adolescent exited her office, Skye checked the time. An hour of school remained. Time to make the rounds again.

  Everything seemed back to normal. The co-op social worker reported no concerns. Skye didn’t see any parents in the halls, and the parking lot held the usual number of cars. Even Homer was back to his usual routine—she could hear a baseball game blaring from the radio behind his closed door. Now they just had to make it through the parent meeting.

  There were two people she still wanted to talk to. Kent had seventh and eighth period as plan times, so he was free. Her questions for Trixie about the cheerleader meeting would have to wait. Skye wanted to ask Kent about Lorelei’s bottle before talking to Wally. She had forgotten to ask about it last night.

  As she approached Kent’s room, she heard voices and wondered if he was rehearsing. She knew the stage was still off-limits, but maybe he had decided to run lines with some of the students. He hated being interrupted or observed during rehearsals, so Skye hung back.

  “Kenny, darlin’, Lorna Ingels told me about you two. No need tryin’ to pretend with little old me.” Skye recognized Mrs. VanHorn’s distinctive drawl.

  “Priscilla, you know that isn’t true.” Kent’s voice was pitched low and persuasive.

  “Well, if my Zoë were to play the lead in Sleeping Beauty, I just might believe you.”

  “Of course, Zoë shall have the lead. She deserves it. It was a tight contest between her and Lorelei.” Kent’s tone was soothing.

  “It was the hair, wasn’t it?” Mrs. VanHorn demanded. “I told Zoë it was a mistake to cut her hair.”

  “It makes no difference now. I shall begin working with Zoë this very afternoon.”

  Kent and Lorna Ingels! A couple? Stunned, Skye leaned against the wall for support.

  If it was true, Mrs. VanHorn’s accusations filled in pieces that Skye had only suspected. She had wondered why Kent had continued to ask her out long after it was obvious there was no chemistry between them. She’d thought his reasons were the same as hers—no one else halfway interesting around—but maybe she’d been wrong.

  As Skye hurried back to the guidance office, part of her felt shocked and betrayed, but her cooler, more rational side was asking if she really was all that surprised.

  If he’d been having an affair with Lorna, Kent had been using Skye as a front—someone appropriate to date so no one would suspect he was sleeping with a married woman. That might explain why Skye had never heard any rumors about him. Either he had covered his tracks well, or she had never cared enough about him to notice.

  The dismissal bell had sounded ten minutes ago. Normally the halls would have begun to quiet, but today Skye watched as parents drifted in, mostly in pairs, some in sizable groups. Voices were subdued, but there was a steady drone. They beelined to the cafeteria and carefully felt their way onto the picnic-style tables with the attached benches. Many a panty hose would be ruined before this meeting ended.

  Little changed at Scumble River High. The pea-green cinder-block walls and matching linoleum were the same as when Skye had attended high school. Even the smell was what she remembered—pine cleaner mixed with overcooked mystery meat.

  Chief Boyd entered exactly on time, and the already-quiet murmur faded completely. He was dressed in uniform, and his gold shield glinted in the drab room. A small podium had been set up in the front, near the serving windows.

  Charlie emerged from the kitchen area and grabbed the mike. “I’d like to thank Chief Boyd for taking the time to speak to us. He’s going to give us a brief summary of what the police know and will answer a few questions. After he leaves, we’ll answer any school-related questions you have.”

  Wally took the mike from Charlie and said, “Wednesday afternoon, Lorelei Ingels was found dead on the gym stage here at Scumble River High. Certain pieces of evidence led us to believe this was not a death by natural causes. The coroner ordered an autopsy. Our preliminary finding is that she was poisoned. A toxicology screen takes some time, so we do not know the nature of the poison. We are acting as if this is a homicide.

  “Because of the suspicious manner of death, we have had to interview many students and staff. I understand that some of you are upset because we’ve spoken to your child without your presence. Legally a parent doesn’t have to be in attendance unless we press charges.”

  Wally waited a few minutes for the buzz to quiet down, then asked, “Any questions?”

  “Do you got a suspect yet?” asked an old man in the back.

  “There are several people we are considering.”

  “Any motive?”

  “Several possible motives have come to our attention.” An emaciated woman waved her arm frantically.

  “Yes?”

  “I heard this was part of a satanic cult ritual. That her blood had been drained, and she was holding an upside-down cross.”

  The audience gasped, and an immediate roar of voices was heard.

  “That is absolutely not true,” Wally shouted above the noise.

  “I heard it was part of a serial killing,” said a man in front, shooting to his feet. “They say there’s already been three others, but the police are covering it up.”

  “Again, there is not a shred of truth in that rumor.” Wally wearily ran his fingers through his crisp hair. “Sorry to cut things short, but I have another appointment. Be assured, the Scumble River Police Department is on top of the investigation. There is no need to worry about the safety of your children.”

  Skye wondered if he really believed that. She caught the chief’s arm as he passed her, and whispered, “Do you have a second? There’s something I want to share with you.”

  He scowled, but nodded, and they walked into an empty classroom.

  “I’m pretty sure Lorelei did not bring the bottle with her from home.”

  “Oh, and how did you come to that conclusion?” His voice was deceptively gentle.

  “I asked her friends if they had ever seen her bring something like that to school. Since it’s against the rules to bring beverages other than milk into the building, I was sure they would notice.”

  “I see, so you’ve been tampering with suspects?”

  “No, I was trying to help you.” Skye frowned. Had she done something wrong?

  “Keep out of this, Skye. Since you can’t be trusted to work as a team player, just stay the heck out of it.” Wally turned on his heel and marched out the door, his back rigid.

  She felt her throat clench. It was so painful to see Wally act like that, and know it was at least partly her fault. He was normally such a sweet guy.

  “Skye, Skye, are you okay?”

  Skye opened her eyes and raised her head. After Wally left, she had slipped into a desk. A wave of hopelessness had washed over her, and she had put her head down for a second. Now she was staring up at Trixie. “What time is it?”

  “Four-thirty. What are you doing sleeping in a classroom?” Trixie shook her head. “Why don’t you go home if you’re tired?”

  “Because there’s something I want to do first.” Skye shoved the hair from her eyes. “Are you busy?”

  “Not right now,” Trixie said.

  “Let’s go visit the Ingels.”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it will be awkward, and I don’t want to. Why do you need to go?”

  “I need to get a better impression of them and get a look around their house.” Skye frowned. “I understand the police are still unable to get a search warrant, but a condolen
ce call is altogether different.”

  “That seems pretty cold.”

  Skye sighed. “You’re right, and I do feel bad, but why wouldn’t parents want to do everything in their power to help find their daughter’s killer?”

  “It does make you wonder, doesn’t it? But why do I have to come?”

  “You’re my best friend, and I have no car.”

  “You need to get a car,” Trixie said flatly. “How have you been getting around the last eight months or so?”

  “I used my cousin’s scooter until the weather turned bad in November. Then my Grandma Denison let me use her car until March—she spent the winter down in Florida with her sister. So really I’ve only been without transportation for a few weeks.”

  “Don’t you think it’s time to bite the bullet and buy a car?”

  “I was going to tomorrow, but I got roped into helping the twins. Maybe I should just take whatever monstrosity my father has dug up. At least I know it’ll run.”

  Trixie shuddered. “Don’t do anything hasty. Your last car looked like it had finished last in a demolition derby.”

  “Well, then I really need a friend who doesn’t mind driving me for a few more days.” Skye stood and put her arm around Trixie’s shoulders. “Please?”

  “Okay, but if we’re going to make a condolence call, shouldn’t we bring a dish?”

  “You’re right. What can we bring?” Skye bit her lip. “I know. Mom left a chicken-and-rice casserole in my freezer last weekend. We can grab that.”

  “Do you know where the Ingels live?”

  “Oh, yes. I was out there Wednesday with Wally and Homer. It’s on South Basin, past McDonald’s, past that little subdivision, and backs up to the cemetery. It’s all by itself on ten acres. Every time I drive past, I expect to see a moat. Wait till you get a load of this place.”

  Trixie wheeled her Mustang through the wrought-iron gates and onto the concrete driveway that curved in front of the Ingelses’ redbrick manor-style home. She parked the car on a paved apron that already held a red BMW.