The dispatcher started to answer, but her radio blared to life and she held up a finger indicating just a minute.
Meanwhile, Skye’s call went through. “Mom, why aren’t you working?”
“Hello to you too,” May said. “I got a call this afternoon saying the schedule had been screwed up, and I wasn’t on until tomorrow. Why?”
Interesting. Obviously Wally had finagled to keep May off-site. He’d learned something since the last time he had dealt with their family, when he had tried to interrogate her brother, and Skye and her mother had foiled his scheme by getting a lawyer there pronto.
Skye told May what had happened. Her mother was not amused, and Skye almost pitied Wally. A verbal bloodbath would almost certainly take place tomorrow afternoon when May came on duty. Before hanging up she invited May to go with her to the pageant on Saturday. May said she’d consider it.
As Skye finished her call, the dispatcher asked, “You were asking about the chief?”
“Right.”
“I think he was supposed to be out of here a half hour ago.” The woman pointed to the window that opened onto the waiting area. “That lady’s been waiting at least that long for him.”
Skye felt a twinge in her chest as she stared at the person the dispatcher indicated. Seated on the vinyl sofa was Abby Fleming—school nurse, Vince’s ex-girlfriend, and one of the most beautiful women in Scumble River.
It had been a long day. Skye resisted the desire to tell Charlie about her false arrest and have him yell at the chief, but she did phone Trixie. She was the one person who would listen to her woes without trying to fix them.
Toward the end of their conversation, Skye tried to be magnanimous, and said, “Well, maybe Wally has learned something from all this. Now he’ll have to admit how easy it is to do something against your common sense in the heat of an investigation.”
Trixie wasn’t convinced. “Men always think what they do is fine, but heaven forbid us women make mistakes.”
“I think it’s a sign of progress that he’s dating again,” Skye commented, closing her eyes in pain as she forced herself to utter the words.
Trixie snorted. “A hard-on does not count as personal growth.”
Trust Trixie to get to the heart of the matter. Skye laughed so loud she scared Bingo, who hid under the bed for twenty minutes after she hung up.
Sleep came in snatches, punctuated by horrible dreams. Finally, at five, she gave up and got out of bed. Her head felt fuzzy, and it took an effort to walk across the room. She dug through her dresser drawer for her swimsuit and pulled it on.
After packing what she would need to wear for the school day, and feeding the cat, she slid into the Bel Air. The aqua car made her feel as if she should be wearing a formal gown and tiara, and waving to the crowd along a parade route.
Skye tried to swim three or four mornings a week, but the Lorelei crisis had interrupted her routine. When it was cold she swam at the high school before the day started. In the summer she used the Scumble River recreational club, a lake formed from a reclaimed coal mine.
Today she was earlier than usual and felt a chill run up her spine as she entered the empty building. There hadn’t been a single car in the lot—even the janitor hadn’t arrived yet.
A few years ago, when the district received some money from a neighboring nuclear power plant, they added a pool to one side of the gym. Instead of using the funds for new books or more teachers, the school board had been hoodwinked by a fast-talking salesman and a group of parents with their own agendas. It was the one time in anyone’s memory that the board had voted against Charlie. Allen Ingels had supported the pool. Because of this, Skye always had mixed feelings when she used the facility.
The only entrance to the pool was through the locker rooms. Today she slowed as she entered the girls’ side, daunted by the lingering memory of being dragged out in handcuffs. Her face reddened, and she cringed at the thought that she would be the focus of gossip du jour.
A picture on one of the cheerleader’s lockers distracted her. Skye leaned in for a better look. It was a head shot of a girl, presumably the locker’s owner. Skye wondered what that was all about. She’d have to ask Trixie.
The scent of chlorine overpowered the smell of sweat as Skye unlocked the door to the pool. Dropping her belongings on a chair, she eased out of the sweat suit she wore over her maillot and slipped into the water. The cool liquid washed her cares away.
She knew she shouldn’t swim alone, which is why she didn’t dive or go into the deeper areas. Instead she swam laps until she was tired, then floated on her back.
A second after she heard a splash, she felt a wave. She was struggling to stand when a blond head popped up beside her.
“Kent! You scared me to death. What are you doing here?” She treaded water as she tried to move back into a shallower area.
His smile appeared forced. “Long time, no see. I thought perhaps you were avoiding me. So when I noticed your car, and remembered you mentioning swimming in the morning, I decided to join you. Hope I’m not intruding.”
You just happened to have a bathing suit in your car? Right. As to his intruding, this wasn’t the time or the place to tell Kent Walker what she really thought of him.
“I guess we’ve both been distracted.” Kent ran his hand up and down her arm.
She let the water move her out of his reach. “Every time I’ve seen you, it seems Priscilla VanHorn has been with you. Or some other female parent.”
“I never would have thought you were the jealous type.” His voice held a hint of smugness.
“I’m full of surprises.” And you’re overdue for one of them. Skye moved away even farther from him. “I want to do a few more laps.”
As she swam, she considered the situation. It was time to tell Kent they were finished, that she knew about Lorna. But before she did, she had a few questions for him regarding Lorelei’s death and his affair with her mother.
Using the ladder, she climbed out of the pool. She had always lacked the upper body strength to boost herself up on the side using only her arms.
After gathering her stuff, she stood at the edge, and said, “Come for dinner tonight and we’ll talk things over.” She forced herself to sound friendly. Her plan was to lull him into a false sense of security before she interrogated him.
Kent swam over to the side. “Sorry. I’m tied up tonight and tomorrow with rehearsals for Sleeping Beauty. How about Saturday?”
“I’m going to the Miss Central Illinois pageant with my mom on Saturday. How about Sunday at six?”
“Six, Sunday night, sounds good. See you then.” It would be a dinner Kent would not soon forget. Surprisingly, Skye hadn’t felt the betrayal she would have expected from finding out the man she was dating was sleeping with a married woman. What she felt was stone-cold anger. Kent Walker was going to pay.
While Skye showered, she thought about Lorelei’s murder. She finally had some facts now that she had seen the autopsy report and talked to Wally. The teen had been given a bottle of something that contained crushed pills of some sort, which seemed to have caused her death. Two things Skye needed to know: Who gave Lorelei that drink, and what type of pills were they?
Finding out what that bottle originally contained might help. Sometime over the weekend she would drive to Bolingbrook and visit the Meijer Superstore. If that megamart didn’t have the brand, no one would.
She also wanted to take a look at the school’s visitors’ sign-in sheet. Odds were that Wally had already checked it out, but she might spot something he hadn’t noticed. Not that she thought a murderer would voluntarily comply with school policy, but signing in was one rule that the secretary strictly enforced. Opal had been known to chase people down the hall if they failed to stop in the office and leave their signatures.
Skye continued mulling over the murder as she finished applying her makeup and stepped into her dress. What else was she missing? There was no lack of motives. Fear of w
hat Lorelei’s pregnancy would reveal or require. Jealousy of what Lorelei had and others wanted. Hatred for things Lorelei had done.
But how could Skye find out whose motive was the strongest? A child’s room could tell you a lot, but then, so could her locker. There was no way to search Lorelei’s room, but getting a peek at her locker should be a piece of cake.
Skye slid on a pair of pumps and grabbed her tote bag. School would start in ten minutes, and she wanted to be in the main office when it did.
On her way, she hurriedly deposited her belongings in the guidance room. She had just greeted Opal when the first bell rang. Immediately the poor secretary became inundated with students. They swarmed the counter while the harried woman wrote passes, collected money, and checked permission slips.
The staff lined up to empty their mailboxes, photocopy one last paper, and look something up in the files. Amid this confusion, no one noticed Skye slide the master key to the lockers into her pocket. She’d be fine unless some kid couldn’t get his door open and Opal tried to find the key. But it was April, and even those who were not the sharpest pencil in the cup should remember their combinations by now. Skye headed nonchalantly back to her room. All she needed was to get into the locker banks at a time when the hallways were empty. How difficult could that be?
“Ms. Denison, Ms. Denison. Do you have a moment?”
Skye jerked back from Lorelei’s locker and turned to face the art teacher. “Why, of course, Ms. Lowe. I was, ah . . . just looking for my earring. I dropped it this morning.” Skye’s hand went to her ear and she palmed the pearl stud she wore.
“I’ll help you look.”
“No, that’s okay. I can do it later. What did you want to see me about?”
The art teacher fiddled with a stack of papers she held. “I’d like you to take a look at some drawings that disturb me.”
“Sure.” The woman looked as if she had just stepped out of Glamour. Skye had to fight the urge to tug at her skirt and check her hair.
In the art room, the teacher spread out six large sheets of paper. “I asked the kids to take a word as their trademark, and use it in a logo.”
“Wow, what a neat idea. Ever since I started working here I’ve admired what you have the kids do.”
“Thanks.” The art teacher brushed an imaginary fleck from her red designer suit. “I was trained in New York.”
Before she could stop herself, Skye blurted, “How did you end up in Scumble River?”
The woman smiled enigmatically. “If rumors are true, you and I might have taken similar routes.” Tapping a picture with a polished red nail, the art teacher continued, “Do you find these at all disturbing?”
Skye leaned in for a closer look. Most were obvious in their attempt to be shocking. The kids had drawn weapons, people exploding, and the occasional swastika, but one picture in particular seemed different, more unsettling.
The artist had taken the word “self” and put it in front of a mirror. The original “self” was colored in pretty pastels and had flowers and hearts intertwined with the letters. The reflected word was done in thick black marker. Jagged pieces had broken off the letters, and drops of crimson were splattered on the mirror surface.
“The others are fairly typical for certain adolescent types,” Skye said, “but who did this one?”
The teacher turned the paper over and peeled away a flap. “I have the kids cover their names, so my grading is not tainted by my personal opinion of that student.”
“That’s a great idea.” Skye was sincere in her praise, but anxious to know the identity of the anguished artist.
“Lorelei Ingels,” the woman read, than pressed her hand to her chest. “Oh, my. Maybe if I had graded these earlier, Lorelei would be alive today.”
“No,” Skye said sharply. “That’s not how it works. Besides, Lorelei did not commit suicide, she was murdered.”
“Right. I forgot for a moment.”
“Could I borrow this for a while? I’ll try making a copy, and then I’d like to show it to the police.”
“Sure. Thanks for looking at them.” Ms. Lowe opened her door just as the bell rang.
Skye glanced at the clock in the guidance office. Nearly time for the dismissal bell, and she had already been foiled three times in her attempt to open Lorelei’s locker in private. As soon as the kids left, the janitors would be everywhere, emptying trash cans, vacuuming floors, washing marks from the walls. She’d have to wait until tomorrow to try again.
Once again the office was busy, this time with students who were collecting materials that had to be taken home. The hubbub allowed Skye to slip the master locker key back on its hook undetected. She had one more mission to accomplish—take a look at the sign-in sheets—then she would call it a day. As soon as Opal turned to answer the phone, Skye scooped up the book and took it into the health room.
As she sat down at Abby’s desk, an image of the nurse and Wally on a date flashed through Skye’s mind. She cringed, then firmly pushed that thought away. She leafed through the pages until she came to a week ago Wednesday.
Almost all the names were those of parents, including Mrs. VanHorn, Mrs. Ingels, Mrs. Wren, and Mrs. Miles. The cheerleader moms must have had a meeting that morning. She’d have to ask Trixie about that. There had been a couple of delivery people, and a service person for the copying machine, but no one out of the ordinary.
Feeling defeated, Skye left school. As she turned out of the parking lot, Skye realized that she had forgotten to check her box for messages. She hesitated, but the car in back of her honked, and she drove on. Surely if there was something that needed her immediate attention, she’d have been told about it by now. The principals were not shy in making their needs known.
Coming to that conclusion, she headed toward the police station to drop off Lorelei’s drawing. Neither Wally nor May were on duty, so she wrote a note, put it with the picture in a manila envelope, and handed it to the dispatcher to give to the chief. Next she stopped at the grocery store to pick up ingredients for Sunday night’s dinner. She was going to make all the dishes she knew Kent would loathe. She selected a cheap bottle of burgundy. Kent insisted that a meal wasn’t a meal without a good glass of wine. This would not be a good glass of wine.
One of the few things she liked in Scumble River was her cottage. Besides nice clothes, it was her one extravagance. The rent was almost double what most houses in the area went for. She leased it from a couple who had built it as a weekend river retreat, then divorced before it was complete. Each refused to let the other have it or sell it, so they rented it to Skye. She hoped that if they ever reconciled, it would be the same year she could afford to move out of Scumble River.
Anticipating company, even Kent, made her look at the cottage with new eyes. As she entered the tiny foyer, she appreciated the antique coat tree with attached bench seat, which opened to provide storage.
To the left was a small kitchen. It was just big enough for a two-person table if it were shoved against the wall. Skye put away her groceries and went into her bedroom to change clothes. It had been another long day. It was time to relax, pet Bingo, and give herself a chance to process all that she’d seen and heard.
Friday morning had whizzed by like a kid on a skate-board. It was nearly one by the time Skye was able to take a break. She grabbed two cans of soda from the machine in the teachers’ lounge and headed to the library.
Trixie was helping a small group of students find books on various occupations for the vocational unit of their health class—the closet thing to career counseling the teens got at Scumble River High School.
Skye held up the can of Pepsi and motioned with her head to a small room off the main IMC area. The librarian nodded and held up five fingers.
Trixie’s office was crammed with a copy machine, desk, and boxes and boxes of books. Skye cleared an orange plastic chair and settled in. She popped the top of her Diet Pepsi and took a swig, wishing she had remembered to bring a Die
t Coke from home.
Trixie bounced inside and closed the door. “Hi, how’s it going?”
“So-so. Just when I think things have calmed down, something else happens.”
“This is a tough situation.”
“True. Hey, I’ve got a question for you. Did the cheerleaders’ mothers have a meeting here at school the morning Lorelei was killed?”
Trixie dug through her desk drawer and pulled out her calendar. After flipping a few pages, she said, “Yes. The cheerleaders met before school and their moms met first period. We discussed fund-raising.”
“Was anyone missing?”
“They were all there except for Tara’s mom. Her whole family was out of town.”
“Did any of the moms handle the pom-poms?”
“I think they all did.” Trixie scratched her head. “Yeah, we handed them around while they were waiting for the cheerleaders’ meeting to end. We were talking about buying better ones when we upgraded the uniforms.”
“How about the cheerleaders, did they work with the pom-poms that morning?”
“No. It was a meeting, not a practice.”
“Did any of the moms come in contact with Lorelei?”
Trixie shrugged. “Maybe. At one point they were all in one room together.”
“So, Mrs. VanHorn could have had a pom-pom strand clinging to her, which transferred to the doctored bottle of juice, which she had an opportunity to hand to Lorelei?”
“Sure, but so could anyone else.”
Friday afternoon was productive. Skye saw a couple of her regular counselees, made arrangements for the first round of annual reviews, and returned calls. At four-thirty she packed up several files and the pile of papers she had grabbed from her box that morning but never gotten around to reading, and headed home. She had big plans for her Friday night—a pizza, a bubble bath, and a new Margaret Maron mystery.
It was time to relax. The week from hell was finally over.
Murder of a Sleeping Beauty Page 19