Murder of An Open Book: A Scumble River Mystery (Scumble River Mysteries Book 18)

by Denise Swanson

  “Got it.”

  “One more thing.” Trixie fingered the ruffle of her cropped denim jacket.

  “No.” Skye put up her hands in the universal stop-right-now gesture. “If you are trying to drive me out of my mind, I warn you it might take a while because the exits aren’t clearly marked.”

  “Really, Skye.” Trixie snickered. “This won’t even take you thirty minutes—three-quarters of an hour tops.” She reached for the candy jar on Skye’s desk and selected a watermelon Jolly Rancher. “You’re friendly with Kathy Steele—”

  “I wouldn’t say that,” Skye broke in before Trixie could finish, hoping to halt whatever request was coming. “We’re more cordial than friendly. I’m not sure she’s exactly friendly with anyone around here.”

  Kathryn Steele owned and edited the Scumble River Star. She’d appeared in town a little more than four years ago, purchased the local paper, and changed its content from mostly advertisements and local sports statistics to actual news—not a popular move with all of her subscribers.

  She lived above the Star’s offices, and she was known for being on the job nearly twenty-four/seven. Which didn’t leave much time for socializing. Skye had always wondered about the newspaperwoman’s background and apparent wealth, but Kathryn was the type of person who held her cards close to the vest while managing to get everyone else to lay their losing hands down on the table.

  “Okay, so you two aren’t pals.” Trixie twisted off the candy wrapper. “But you told me she’s a member of Wally’s gun club and that she was helpful the last time you went with him to shoot.”

  “Helpful in that she offered me a hand up when I fell on my butt after Emmy Jones had me shoot with her Smith & Wesson Centennial 642CT,” Skye corrected. “And I haven’t been out to the club in a month or so.” Pregnancy had put a temporary stop to her quest to bond with her new husband over his love of weaponry.

  “That’s more of a relationship with Kathy than I have, so you’re elected.” Trixie took another piece of paper from her pocket. “You just need to persuade her to put this announcement about the rubber duck race on the front page of the Star.” Trixie shoved the article toward Skye. “It has to be in by noon today so it will make Wednesday’s paper, and we can’t afford to pay anything.”

  “Wait a cotton-picking minute.” Skye refused to take the sheet Trixie was thrusting in her direction. “How am I going to accomplish this before twelve o’clock?”

  “Call Kathy on the phone. Convince her it’s for a good cause. Then e-mail her the notice.” Trixie popped the hard candy into her mouth. “Easy-peasy.”

  “Right.” Skye’s voice dripped sarcasm. “I’ll schedule that in between the parent meeting at eight, the observation at ten, and the counseling session at eleven.”

  Trixie ignored Skye’s sarcastic tone, crossed another line off of her inventory, and stuffed it in her pocket. “Great. I knew that I could count on you.”

  “You know, last time you tried to rush an event, it turned out to be a disaster,” Skye said, attempting once more to get her friend to slow down and think through the consequences of ramrodding the fund-raiser. “You ended up with a garage full of junk and no buyers for your white-elephant sale.”

  “I eventually sold all that stuff.” Trixie grinned, then shrugged. “Besides, some mistakes are too much fun to make only once.”

  “You peddled them mostly to your friends,” Skye retorted. “The ones who had donated the items in the first place.”

  “Your point?” Trixie sniggered, then asked, “So what did you end up buying for Vince and Loretta’s long-awaited baby shower?”

  The baby had been born nearly three months ago, but the birth had been a difficult one, and Loretta had requested that the celebration be delayed until she had fully recovered. Skye suspected that her gorgeous sister-in-law also wanted to get her figure back before the party, but she had wisely kept that notion to herself. Loretta was a brilliant woman, and Skye didn’t want her sister-in-law turning that mega-intellect against her.

  “The Kate Spade Coney Island Stevie diaper bag.” Skye was happy to divert Trixie’s attention from adding her name to any more items on the ducky-do list, so she quickly added, “Vince told me that Loretta was finding it a teensy bit hard to transform from city lawyer to country mommy, so I thought a hip baby bag might help. It’s her favorite shade of pink, and it has an awesome gold buckle, as well as a changing pad and stroller straps.”

  Skye and her sister-in-law, Loretta Steiner Denison, were sorority sisters—both alumnae of Alpha Sigma Alpha. Loretta was a hotshot defense attorney with a huge law firm in Chicago, and seven years ago Skye had reached out to her to defend Vince on a murder charge.

  Loretta had surprised Skye when, despite the high-powered lawyer’s often-declared aversion to small towns and their citizens, she had fallen in love with Skye’s brother, a humble hairstylist. That Loretta had ended up married to Vince and living in Scumble River was beyond amazing.

  It helped that she was able to do so much of her job at home, having to make the ninety-minute commute into the city only for meetings and trials, but it had still been a tremendous sacrifice for her to live in her husband’s hometown rather than remain in Chicago. And now that she was taking six months’ maternity leave to stay home with their newborn, Loretta was having some difficulty adjusting to her much-less-glamorous life.

  “That bag had to cost you a pretty penny.” Trixie grinned. “Owen and I got them a starter library. A dozen classic children’s books that the new mommy and daddy can read to baby. I included my favorites—Goodnight Moon, Curious George, and at Owen’s insistence, The Rusty, Trusty Tractor.”

  “That’s a great present.” Skye smiled to herself. Trust a librarian to get the newborn started on the right foot with a gift of books. And trust her farming husband to include a volume on rural life.

  “How’s Loretta handling your mother?” Trixie asked, playing with her wedding ring.

  “Probably better than how she’s handling her own mom.” Skye stole a glance at the wall clock behind Trixie. Ten minutes until the bell rang. Yep. She’d definitely have to write the report at home to make up for the work time she and her friend had wasted chatting. “Our mother nearly drove Loretta insane when she and Vince were building their house. Then, when Mom found out about the baby, Loretta threatened to get an unlisted number and a guard dog to keep her away. But she’s a pussycat in comparison to June Steiner.”

  “Hard to believe that anyone could outdo May in the smothering department.”

  “So far, Mrs. S has hired a live-in au pair.” Skye laughed at the memory of Vince’s frantic phone call. “One day this woman just showed up on Loretta and Vince’s doorstep.”

  “Did they keep the nanny? I mean, who wouldn’t want their own Mary Poppins?” Trixie frowned. “Except for the dancing on the rooftops part.”

  “No. They sent the poor lady packing.” Skye shook her head. “And shortly after that, Loretta’s mom arranged for the baptism without telling them.”

  “Did they go through with the ceremony?”

  “Uh-uh. And now Mom and Mrs. S are at war as to whether it will take place here at St. Francis or at the church the Steiners attend in the city.” Skye scratched her forearm, scowling at how itchy she felt.

  “You need to use some moisturizer.” Trixie pointed to the white flecks on Skye’s arm. “How come your skin is suddenly so dry?”

  “It’s all Blair Hucksford’s fault.” Skye glared. “She’s impossible.”

  “What happened?”

  “She kicked me out of the pool this morning,” Skye said, then described her encounter with the teacher. After telling Trixie all about Blair’s imperious attitude, Skye ended with, “And no matter how much I apologized or how nicely I asked, she refused to let me take a shower. Then she actually hauled me out of the locker room.”

 
; “She physically dragged you?”

  “Yes.” Skye slid open her top drawer. “It was just plain uncool.”

  “Uncool!” Trixie’s voice rose. “Heck. That’s assault. You should report her to Homer.”

  “Probably, but I don’t want to start a war with that woman. She sort of scares me.” Skye wrinkled her brow. “You know what I don’t understand? I thought the girls’ volleyball season was in the fall. Why is Blair working with her team now? And why are they swimming instead of on the court?”

  “From what I hear, Blair has mandatory sessions with her girls all year long. And my guess is she uses the pool for strength training.” Trixie pursed her lips. “You know, I’m not really surprised that Blair was rude to you.”

  “Why?” Skye dug through pencils, pens, and legal pads until she found a sample bottle of Kiehl’s Creme de Corps. “Have you had run-ins with her, too?”

  “Sort of.” Trixie’s lips thinned. “A couple of my cheerleaders tried out for the volleyball team, and even though the schedules don’t conflict, she made them choose between the two activities.”

  “Did she give any reason?” Skye unscrewed the tiny lid and squeezed a dollop of lotion into her palm. “Besides being a controlling witch?”

  “Bonding.” Trixie bent to retie the laces of her black-and-white high-tops. “Blair claimed that the girls wouldn’t bond with the rest of the volleyball team if their allegiance was diluted by their loyalty to the cheerleading squad.”

  “Seriously?”

  “That was what she said.”

  “Wow.” Skye smoothed the yellow cream on her arms, feeling an instant relief from the itchiness that had been driving her mad. Why hadn’t she thought of moisturizer sooner? Were the baby hormones already sucking IQ points from her brain? “That seems pretty intense for high school sports.”

  “Yeah.” Trixie straightened. “My girls decided they’d rather stick with my squad than play volleyball and put up with Blair. They even came up with a cheer about her.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yep. I saw them doing it before practice one day.” Trixie giggled. “It goes:

  ‘She’s stuck-up.

  We’re fed up.

  And she needs to shut up.’”

  “How apropos.” Skye chuckled.

  “Yes, it is.” Trixie chortled. “I had to pretend I didn’t catch them doing the cheer or I would have had to punish them.”

  “Of course.”

  “I’ve heard that parents have had problems with her, too,” Trixie added. “Not to mention the other staff who have had her steal kids from their sports teams. They call her Coacher Poacher.”

  “That can’t make for a pleasant atmosphere in the faculty lounge.”

  “Haven’t you noticed?” Trixie raised an eyebrow. “Blair never goes there. She has lunch with her boyfriend, Thor Goodson, in his office in the gym.”

  Thor was the new PE teacher. He’d been hired a year ago, when the old one finally retired. Since Scumble River High was such a small school, he ended up coaching most of the boys’ sports. Thor was another faculty member Skye didn’t know too well. Like his girlfriend, he seemed to have no interest in referring kids for her services.

  “I wondered why I never saw her in the teachers’ lounge, but I figured it was because I’m only here at the high school three or four half days a week.”

  “Nope.” Trixie got up. “Blair’s had so many tiffs with the rest of the staff”—Trixie stopped with her hand on the doorknob—“I think she’s afraid to eat in the presence of the other faculty.”

  “Right.” Skye snorted. “What does she think? That the teachers will poison her?”

  CHAPTER 4

  GTG—Got to Go

  “Thanks, Kathy!” Skye had the receiver wedged between her ear and shoulder as she assembled the material for her eight o’clock parent conference. “Trixie and I really appreciate your help.”

  “Lucky for you guys, it’s a slow news week. I have a big hole on the front page of the Star,” Kathy said. “Demoting Saxony Station’s transfer of their four-hundred-ton transformer from a barge on the Scumble River to the west side of their power plant to the second page isn’t a real hardship. They’re doing it at midnight, so it’s not as if there will be a huge traffic snarl.”

  “Well, we appreciate it.” Skye ran down her mental list of needed items—legal pad, pen, calendar, and Ashley Northrup’s file. Check, check, check, and check. “Trixie has us on a tight schedule.”

  “I understand her sense of urgency,” Kathy said. “I got my golden sheltie, Walter Cronkite, from that shelter. They do good work on a shoestring budget. I’d hate to see them lose their lease.”

  “The animals are how Trixie roped me in, too.” Skye glanced at the wall clock. Three minutes until the meeting. She had to get off the phone. “So I’ll e-mail you the article.” Skye hit the SEND button. She’d typed in the article while she and the newspaperwoman had been chatting. “Feel free to tweak it.”

  “Will do.” Kathy paused, then added, “I haven’t seen you at the shooting range lately. I hope Emmy’s little joke didn’t scare you away.”

  “Not at all.” Skye frowned. So her suspicion that Emmy had deliberately given her a weapon that had too much kick for a beginner was true. Despite Wally’s protestations that the woman wasn’t interested in him, and the scene Skye had witnessed between her ex-boyfriend Simon Reid and Emmy, Skye still thought the gorgeous female might have a little crush on Wally.

  “I’m glad you feel that way.” Kathy’s voice was brisk. “Every woman should know how to defend herself.” She chuckled. “Especially someone like you, who keeps getting mixed up in murder investigations. I heard that you even solved a case on your honeymoon.”

  “I just helped the ship’s security a little,” Skye demurred, then said, “Thanks again for printing the duck race article. Bye.” Skye hurriedly hung up, grabbed the material she’d put together for the conference, and stood. She had exactly ninety seconds to make it to the principal’s office on time. She’d have to run. It was a good thing she had on her new Tory Burch loafers instead of high heels.

  When Skye approached the main office, Opal Hill, the school secretary, was sorting mail into the teachers’ boxes. She looked up from her task and said, “Mrs. Northrup is already here, and Mr. Knapik has been buzzing me every five seconds asking for you.”

  “Sorry,” Skye said. Opal was such a fragile soul that Skye had never been able to figure out how she’d managed to work for Homer for so long. “But I still have thirty seconds before I’m officially late.”

  “Then you’d better get in there right now.” Opal’s watery brown eyes made her look as if she were about to burst into tears.

  “I take it that Homer is in his usual having-to-deal-with-a-parent rotten mood,” Skye said as she scooted around the counter.

  “Oh, my, yes.” Opal’s pink nose twitched. “Voices have already been raised.”

  Skye took a few steps down a dark, narrow hall, knocked on the principal’s closed door, then opened it a crack and said, “Ready for me?”

  A gruff voice yelled from behind a massive desk, “It’s about time. You’re perilously close to being late. Get your rear end in here.”

  “Okeydokey.” Skye took a calming breath. Homer was who he was, and at this stage in his life—which, metaphorically speaking, was about five minutes before he signed his retirement papers—there was no changing him. Pasting a cheery expression on her face, she entered the office.

  A wiry-looking woman in her forties with short dark hair was seated on one of the visitors’ chairs. Homer glowered at Skye, then waved toward the parent and said, “Oriana Northrup, this is our school psychologist, Skye Denison.”

  “We’ve met.” Skye held out her hand to the woman. “But it’s actually Skye Denison-Boyd now. I got married over winter break
.”

  “Great. Another hyphenated name.” Homer rolled his eyes. “Mrs. Northrup is unhappy with her daughter Ashley’s program and is requesting placement at a private school.”

  “Really?” Skye hadn’t been expecting that. Mrs. Northrup had been advocating for more services for her daughter since Skye’s first encounter with her when the family moved into the Scumble River school district six years ago. However, according to Ashley’s file, between the classroom modifications and the special education teacher’s support, the girl’s freshman year was going well. “Has something happened recently that makes you feel what we’re doing here is no longer appropriate for your daughter?”

  “Nothing new.” The woman’s handshake was crushing. “As I explained to Mr. Knapik, I just don’t feel that Ashley will ever live up to her full potential without the more advanced services that Thorntree Academy provides for children with Asperger’s syndrome.”

  “I see.” Skye glanced at Homer. “With which services were you especially impressed?”

  “All of them.” The woman frowned. “Thorntree develops a personalized program for every student.” When Skye opened her mouth, Mrs. Northrup glared at her. “Yes, you all here claim to do that with your Individualized Education Plan, but we both know that’s a load of crap.”

  “I don’t believe that’s true.” Skye quickly jotted down a note on her legal pad. Clearly, this issue wasn’t going to be solved in one meeting.

  “Well, I do,” Mrs. Northrup continued. “At Thorntree, there’s a teacher for every three students. And they promise to maximize learning, not just provide them with an appropriate education.” She spit out the last two words as if they were a bug that had somehow crawled into her mouth. “They also provide extra services like social work, occupational therapy, and speech and language.”

  Skye glanced down at the girl’s IEP. “Ashley receives all of those services here. Itinerant therapists from the co-op come in several times a week to work with Ashley.”