“You said a couple of things,” Wally reminded her. “Is there something else?”
Skye played with her spoon. “The Sechrest sisters visited me yesterday afternoon.”
“What did they want?” Wally’s tone was curious. “They’re both so tiny and elderly, after their initial interview I pretty much crossed them off my suspect list. Was that a mistake?”
“Probably not. I doubt they killed Alexis over an insult, even one about a cat.” She ate a spoonful of Special K, then said, “But they did have an interesting bit of information about Fawn Irving.”
“Oh?” Wally poured Cap’n Crunch into a bowl and added milk.
Skye hid her grin. He had recently confided his love for the sugary corn and oat squares and she now kept a supply for him, but she still found it funny that a macho guy like Wally ate a kid’s cereal.
“Did you know that not too long ago Fawn’s husband disappeared?”
“No.” He put down his spoon and frowned. “When did that happen?”
“I’m not sure. But shortly afterward, Fawn attempted suicide.” Skye’s expression grew sad. She hated hearing that anyone had been so despondent that they felt their only option was to end their life. “I don’t have the exact dates, but Fawn was on the psychiatric floor of Saint Joe’s up until a little while before the cat show.”
“She certainly didn’t volunteer that information.” Wally poured a cup of coffee for himself, then sat down. “And neither did anyone else.”
“I’m not surprised.” Skye drank her cranberry juice. “Probably very few people are familiar with the whole story. Bunny and Frannie were aware that Fawn had been recently hospitalized, but I don’t think they knew why.” Skye explained how Sandy had come to hear about it, adding, “There really is no privacy anymore. Even though the medical personnel respect confidentiality, the volunteers can’t be held to the same standards.”
“I won’t be able to see the records of her stay, but I will reinterview her.” Wally cradled his mug, his expression thoughtful. “Actually, considering the circumstances of her hospitalization, I think the department’s psych consultant should be present, too.”
“Before we talk to her, you might want to check with the Laurel Police Department,” Skye cautioned. “According to the rumor mill, a lot of folks seem to think Fawn might have killed her husband.”
“Son of a B!” Wally nearly spewed the gulp of coffee he had just taken. “Every time I think we’ve eliminated a suspect we add two more. If we could just find Jacobsen, maybe we could wrap this case up.”
“Maybe.” Raising an eyebrow, Skye took a delicate sip of her tea. “But I wouldn’t count on it.”
CHAPTER 14
Busier Than a One-eyed Cat Watching Two Mouse Holes
Skye wasn’t scheduled to be at the high school at all on Wednesdays or Thursdays—a fact that Homer tended to conveniently overlook. When things were running smoothly, he resented giving up any space or budget for her needs. But the minute a tricky situation reared its ugly head, he felt that she should devote all her time and energy to his school.
Unfortunately, as a school psychologist assigned to multiple schools, Skye was often put in the awkward position of reminding all the principals that she wasn’t their full-time employee. And as she stepped over the threshold of the elementary school’s office Wednesday morning, she sensed that today would be one of those days when she was needed everywhere at once, with everyone thinking his or her crisis was the most pressing.
Caroline Greer was standing between Mrs. Canetti and Mrs. Hinich, the mothers of two of Skye’s social-skills group counselees. The principal was trying to keep the two women apart, while they were engrossed in a heated discussion involving loud voices, mean faces, and wild gesticulations.
As soon as Caroline spotted Skye, she abandoned her arbitration attempts and hurried over to her. The office was crowded with teachers signing in, chatting with each other, and watching Mrs. Canetti and Mrs. Hinich argue, but the principal pulled Skye to a semi-secluded area.
Once out of earshot, Caroline said in a low voice, “Help me get these parents into my office.” She glanced worriedly back at the two antagonists. “I don’t want to do this in public.”
“What’s up?” Skye kept a wary eye on the women, who continued their bickering.
“We have a major problem,” Caroline said over her shoulder as she darted over to Mrs. Canetti, who was jabbing her finger in Mrs. Hinich’s chest. The principal gripped the woman’s arm just above the elbow, and motioned with her chin for Skye to take charge of the other mother.
Skye moved into place and waited for instructions.
“Ladies, let’s sit down in private, have some coffee, and talk this over,” Caroline suggested, tugging on Mrs. Canetti’s arm until the much larger woman gave in and began to move. “I’m sure we can come to an agreement that will be in the best interest of both children.”
Shooing Mrs. Hinich toward the principal’s office, Skye passed Fern Otte, the school secretary, who handed her a sheaf of small pink pieces of paper. Fern was a small-boned woman who dressed in shades of brown and flapped her arms as if she was about to fly away. That, along with her tendency to sound as if she were cheeping when she spoke, had earned her the nickname Tweets. Not that anyone was cruel enough to call the fragile woman that to her face, but sometimes it was hard not to slip up.
While Caroline poured coffee for everyone, Skye glanced through the while-you-were-out memos. Most of them were from Homer, each succeeding one more agitated than the last. In short, he commanded her to drop everything and report to the high school immediately to deal with the Pass Out game girls.
From Homer’s increasingly more detailed messages, Skye gathered that the gossip mill had been busy grinding out bigger and more exaggerated accounts of what had happened Saturday night at the infamous slumber party. Now parents whose kids had not even been involved were calling the high school principal in a state of panic, demanding information about what he and the district were going to do about the situation. And Homer, being Homer, in turn ordered Skye to handle the whole mess ASAP.
Neva had left the remaining message. She had called Earl Doozier to come pick up the classroom material for the instruction Junior would be missing due to his suspension. However, Earl had claimed his car wasn’t working. Since Neva didn’t want him and his brood trooping into her school anyway, she had promised that Skye would deliver the homework—Skye being the only one from the school that Earl allowed on his property.
Skye glanced up from her perusal of the pink slips and saw Caroline fussing with white foam cups, sugar, and creamer. If Fern reminded Skye of a wren, Caroline made her think of a partridge. The elementary principal was short, round, and had a monobosom. She had poufy white hair, black-framed glasses, and a reddish nose.
Once everyone had been supplied with coffee, Caroline settled behind her desk and said, “Let’s start with a clear picture of what occurred yesterday.” She clasped her hands. “Mrs. Canetti, for Ms. Denison’s benefit will you please explain what happened?”
The muscular blonde frowned, but began. “Alvin Hinich bit my Duncan during afternoon recess.” Her short platinum hair bristled as she continued. “Now Duncan is convinced he has rabies.”
Duncan Canetti was germophobic. Duncan—or, as the kids called him, Mr. Clean—liked everything to be perfectly orderly and hygienic. So much so that he had persuaded his mother to allow him to have his head shaved in order to avoid ever having a hair out of place. He carried a can of Lysol with him wherever he went.
Skye knew that Duncan couldn’t stand being touched, so she could certainly see how having someone’s mouth and saliva on his bare arm would upset the boy. Something like that could easily push him over the edge.
“Alvin didn’t even break the skin,” Mrs. Hinich pointed out, her tone exasperated. “How in the world can Mr. Clean think he has rabies if there isn’t a puncture?” She huffed and sat back in her seat.
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p; “Duncan”—Mrs. Canetti emphasized her son’s name— “thought he was foaming at the mouth when he brushed his teeth this morning.” She glared at the other woman. “He freaked out and has already taken three showers since then. He’s rubbing his arm raw.”
“And Alvin is traumatized by how his teacher treated him after the incident.” Mrs. Hinich fingered her dark brown braid. “He’d been getting so much better lately.” Her voice broke and she slumped. “Now he only growls and barks at me when I try to talk to him.”
Skye knew that Alvin insisted he was a beagle named Spot. However, Skye had been making some headway with both boys. Now, hearing how Alvin and Duncan had regressed, she almost sobbed in frustration. It looked as if all the progress they had made was gone. She made a mental note to check on Clifford, the third member of the social-skills group she’d been conducting for the past six months.
“You need to stop indulging that child,” Mrs. Canetti said with a sniff. “If my son acted like some kind of hound, I’d serve him dog food and make him sleep on the floor until he snapped out of it.”
“Sure you would. Because you have such great parenting skills.” Mrs. Hinich scoffed and folded her arms across her chest. “Is that why you allowed your son to go bald?” She shook her head. “And for heaven’s sake, just take away that damn Lysol can. The reason Alvin bit him was because Duncan sprayed it in his eyes.”
“Ladies!” Caroline leaned forward and addressed the two mothers. “I can understand your concerns, but both of you know that your children have difficult issues and special needs. Which is why I’m sure you can sympathize with each other’s challenges.”
The women refused to meet Caroline’s gaze. Neither one seemed willing or able to empathize with the other’s tribulations.
While the principal’s statement had been diplomatic, it hadn’t gotten them anywhere, so Skye decided to try a more direct approach. “Mrs. Canetti, I assume that if Duncan got over his rabies paranoia that would satisfy you. You’d drop the matter.”
“Yes.” The blonde nodded. “If he comes out of the bathroom and stops scrubbing himself bloody, I’m willing to overlook the assault.”
“And Mrs. Hinich, I assume that if Alvin stops growling and starts talking, that would satisfy you.”
“Yes.”
“Great.” Skye took a deep breath. What she was about to suggest was most certainly not recommended in the school psychology best practices manual. However, since no other immediate solution came to mind—therapy certainly did not produce rapid results—she said, “Mrs. Canetti, stop at the drugstore and pick up a tube of antibiotic ointment—a brand Duncan has never seen before. Then ask the pharmacist to paste a label on the box reading RABIES VACCINE.”
“Will he do that?” Mrs. Canetti asked. “Isn’t that illegal or something?”
“I think if you explain the problem, the pharmacist will be willing to help you out.” Skye shrugged. “If he isn’t able to, then you can create a label on your computer, print it out, and stick it on the package yourself.”
“Okay.” Mrs. Canetti sound uncertain, but she took a breath and nodded.
“Once you have the carton fixed up, show your son the medicine, then apply it to his arm and tell him he’ll be cured in half an hour.”
“But—”
Skye cut off Mrs. Canetti’s protest and turned her attention to the other mother. “Mrs. Hinich, you need to rent a DVD of Cats and Dogs.”
“What—?”
Skye interrupted her. “Watch the movie with Alvin and point out that the star is a beagle who talks. Emphasize throughout the film that the dog doesn’t just growl.” She bit her lip. She hated reinforcing the boy’s fantasy, but she would deal with the fallout from that shortcut later, during group. “Make sure you stress that the dog communicates using words.”
“Well…” The brunette paused, then twitched her shoulders. “It’s worth a try.” She shook her head. “If he’s not talking by the time his father gets home, my husband will smack him with a rolled-up newspaper.”
Skye did a double take and barely stopped herself from commenting. That one sentence explained so much about Alvin’s behavior. Why had his mother never mentioned it before? Did she honestly not realize that her husband’s conduct might be influencing her son’s actions?
Realizing she’d been lost in thought, Skye recovered and asked, “How about you, Mrs. Canetti? Are you willing to take my suggestion?”
“Sure.” The blonde picked up her purse from the floor and stood. “A tube of antibiotic ointment is a heck of a lot cheaper than a visit to the doctor, which is about my only other option.”
Once the women had departed, Skye explained to Caroline about Homer’s problem and requested permission to leave the elementary school as soon as she checked on Clifford. Caroline agreed. Pausing at the secretary’s desk on her way out, Skye asked Fern if she could use the phone.
Having decided that Neva’s issue was the least urgent, Skye called her and wheedled permission to make the Doozier delivery tomorrow. Normally, she would have offered to take the homework to Junior after work, but she figured that Wally might want her to accompany him to interview Fawn that afternoon.
Neva granted Skye’s request to spend the afternoon at the high school. However, she wasn’t pleased that Skye would miss her regular stint at the junior high, and told Skye to inform Homer that she expected reciprocal consideration the next time she needed Skye’s presence on a day the psychologist was supposed to be at his school.
Skye considered it best to speak to the Pass Out game girls as a group, so when she arrived at the high school and found out she was still lacking one consent form, she pacified Homer about the delayed intervention by proposing that she write a letter that he could send to all parents that afternoon via their students.
She promised Homer that in the note she would clarify what had happened during the slumber party, offer recommendations as to what to look for if they were worried their kids might be participating in the game, and include a list of ways to discuss the dangerous pastime with their teenagers. She also swore she would conclude the document with a paragraph assuring the parents that the school was aware of the situation and was dealing with the students involved.
It took Skye the rest of the day to do the research and write the letter—then rewrite it again and again until Homer approved. Just before quitting time, she finally reached the mother of the one girl who still had not turned in her counseling consent form. The woman promised to drop off the permission slip herself the next morning since her daughter kept “forgetting” to bring it to school.
Feeling as if she’d been on a supersonic bullet train all day, Skye was so relieved to drive out of the high school parking lot that she forgot that Wally had asked her to call him when she got off work. Ordinarily she would just stop by the station, but he’d explained that it was best for her to phone, since he wasn’t sure where he’d be or what they’d need to do regarding the investigation.
Pulling over to the side of the road, Skye turned on her cell. As soon as the device powered up, she saw that there was a voice mail from Wally.
After pressing multiple buttons, she finally persuaded her phone to play Wally’s message. “Sugar, I have to go to Laurel to talk to the chief there about Fawn Irving. I’ll be in touch as soon as I get back, which should be before six.”
Skye smiled to herself. That meant she finally had time to visit her parents. She hadn’t had a chance to see them since Wally had told her about May’s change of heart regarding their marriage, and she wanted to talk to her mom before May planned the whole wedding without her.
Normally Skye’s mother worked afternoons at the PD, which meant May was usually just starting her shift when Skye was leaving school. However, she knew her mom had taken Wednesday off this week to attend a special meeting of her knitting group that night.
Since Skye didn’t knit, she had no idea why a special meeting would be needed—maybe a new way to purl had been d
iscovered—and she didn’t care. As long as it meant May would be home, it was all good.
Skye’s parents lived a few miles east of town, off a two-lane blacktop. In the spring, summer, and fall it was a pleasant drive, but during the winter, the trip could be a terrifying experience. After a snowstorm, cars slid into the ditch like pucks across an air hockey table.
Skye had a December birthday, and the first time she drove down that road after getting her license, she managed to flip her cousin’s old Volkswagen. When she and her cousin had crawled out of the passenger-side window, the Beetle had looked like an upside-down turtle. It was a miracle that neither of them was injured.
The sound of her tires crunching the white pea gravel on her parents’ well-tended driveway interrupted Skye’s journey down memory lane. Her father’s old blue pickup was missing from its normal place in front of the garage, which meant Jed was probably still working somewhere on the farm.
Considering the cold, rainy weather they’d had this March, he wouldn’t be in the field planting yet, so he was probably in the machine shed getting the tractors ready for the season. Either that or doing one of the hundred other chores that comprised a farmer’s life.
Skye gazed over the acre of property that was her parents’ pride and joy. During the spring and summer, Jed kept the lawn in better shape than a lot of golf course putting greens, but today the only signs of life were a row of bright yellow daffodils under the picture window and the purple crocuses around the miniature windmill.
As Skye got out of the Bel Air and walked toward the back patio, she noticed that her mother’s concrete goose was dressed in a diaper and bib, with a blue ruffled cap on its head, a pacifier held in one wing and a baby bottle in the other. Shoot! The fowl’s attire reflected May’s desires, and Skye had been hoping for an Easter Bunny costume. She would have settled for a wedding gown.
Murder of the Cat's Meow: A Scumble River Mystery Page 13