Neva Llewellyn narrowed her eyes as Skye rushed through the door. Crossing her arms, she demanded, “Did Homer have another emergency? It’s extremely unfair the way he monopolizes your services. He almost always gets your extra half day, and he often steals time from the rest of us.”
The principal was a tall, lean woman in her early fifties. She and Skye were on friendly terms, but Neva was a perfectionist who expected everyone to live up to her strict standards of behavior. Tardiness was one of her major pet peeves.
“Unfortunately, I can’t blame Homer,” Skye said. “A telephone call delayed me.” She was careful not to reveal that the call had been police and not school business. She didn’t feel guilty—after all, she had used her lunch break to talk to Bernadette—but it was still better not to mention it. “I’m sorry I kept you waiting.”
When Neva had taken over from the previous principal—a guy whose taste ran to neon sports signs, milk-crate bookcases, and athletic memorabilia—she had completely redecorated. The office had gone from college-dorm utilitarian to refined elegance. Skye seated herself in a Queen Anne chair and faced Neva across a gleaming wooden desk. She put her tote bag on the floor, grabbed a pen and legal pad from its depths, and breathed in the pleasant odor of vanilla that wafted through the air from a small bowl of potpourri tucked away on a butterfly table next to the ivory wall.
Neva waited until Skye was settled; then she straightened the sleeve of her lavender suit and leaned forward. “It’s still wrong.”
“What?” Skye’s heart skipped a beat, but her expression remained composed. Was the principal referring to Skye’s lateness?
“Homer’s abuse of your schedule.” Neva pulled a tiny leather memo pad from the middle drawer, plucked a sterling-silver pen from the crystal stand on her desktop, and jotted down a note.
“You mean because of the recent crisis?” Skye hazarded a guess.
“Yes.” Neva lifted her chin. “I know the previous social worker didn’t work out, but the district needs to get you some assistance.”
“I’ve asked, but the superintendent claims that no one has applied,” Skye said, averting her gaze. She wasn’t actually pushing the board to find someone for the position any longer. Her experience with the last social worker had dampened her zeal on the idea of filling that role. Although now that she was pregnant, circumstances had changed, and she’d have to line up some help pretty darn soon.
“I’ll discreetly check into Dr. Wraige’s assertion. His secretary is my cousin’s wife, and she can pull the file and see if he’s telling the truth.” Neva tapped a perfectly manicured nail on her chin and wrote another note. “But right now we have another problem.”
“Yes?” Skye poised her Bic over her legal pad, ready to take notes.
“The parent we’re meeting with this afternoon attempted to enroll her son in school on Monday,” Neva said slowly. “But she didn’t have the child’s birth certificate or legal proof of residency.”
“And since I’m here, I take it the boy is in special education?” Skye asked. Unlike Homer, Neva didn’t often involve Skye in issues that weren’t related to children with special needs.
“He has a partially completed referral.” Neva got up, took a folder from her file cabinet, and handed it to Skye. “Most of the components are finished, but the psychological assessment isn’t.”
“Of course it’s not,” Skye murmured, flipping through the file.
“Mom claims the birth certificate got lost in the move.” Neva resumed her seat. “But looking at the boy’s records, I have my doubts.”
“Why is that?” Skye continued to scan the student’s paperwork.
“He’s a sixth grader, and the family has changed schools eight times. Plus, there is no record he attended school before second grade.” Neva put on her glasses and read from the page in front of her. “On the day his mother attempted to enroll him, I noted that his speech was unintelligible, he was unclean, and he smelled of urine.”
“According to this, he’s twelve.” Skye nibbled the end of her pen.
“Right.” Neva wrinkled her brow. “But he looks at least fourteen. I swear he had a five-o’clock shadow. And he couldn’t give me simple personal information, like his year of birth, home address, or phone number.”
“With all the moves, his lack of knowledge of the latter two might be explainable.” Skye tilted her head. “The former could be a result of his mother lying about his age, or it may indicate a low IQ.”
“My fear is that this child might be a kidnap victim.” Neva grimaced. “I know that sounds a little dramatic. But with all you see in the news, I can’t help but wonder if he was abducted between second and third grade.” She shrugged. “It would explain the missing birth certificate and perhaps his confused demeanor.”
“That’s a possibility.” Skye nodded. “But more likely, his mother doesn’t want him diagnosed as mentally challenged, and she moves him whenever the school comes close to completing an evaluation.”
“That makes sense,” Neva agreed. “Still, if she doesn’t provide some proof that he is her child, I’m contacting the authorities.”
“The problem with the scenario that I suggested,” Skye said, running her fingers through her hair as she considered the information Neva had reported, “is why would the mother allow us to see the partially completed referral if she was trying to hide a disability? That’s the part that doesn’t make any sense to me.”
“Well . . .” Neva’s expression was sheepish. “I may have somewhat manipulated the mother into signing a release form. The referral wasn’t with the stuff she brought in, but after meeting the student, I figured there had to be some special ed records somewhere.”
“If she didn’t give informed consent, we can’t use the records you obtained with that signature.” Skye stared at the principal, daring her to object. It was beyond unethical to deceive a parent into signing a permission form she didn’t understand, and Skye was surprised at Neva. “Either she agrees, or we start the whole referral process over once the child is enrolled.”
“You’re right.” Neva’s shoulders drooped, and she exhaled noisily. “If she objects, we can’t use those records. I swear Homer and the rest of the boys’ club that runs this district are beginning to rub off on me.”
Before Skye could say anything, the school secretary buzzed and announced that Mrs. Puissant had arrived. Neva quickly put away her notes and instructed Ursula to show the woman into the office.
Once Mrs. Puissant was seated and introduced to Skye, Neva asked, “Were you able to find Bundy’s birth certificate?”
“Not yet.” Mrs. Puissant shook her head. Her limp brown hair was fastened with a rubber band and lay like a droopy squirrel tail on her shoulder. She wore baggy jeans and an oversize sweatshirt with NO PANTS SATURDAY printed on the front. “But I have my rental agreement, and I found Bundy’s baptismal certificate and his social security card.” She gave Neva the documents.
Neva looked them over and handed them to Skye. The year on the baptismal certificate was smeared. She couldn’t tell if it was 2005 or 2003.
“Well, we don’t want to keep Bundy out of school any longer, so we’ll provisionally accept the baptismal certificate, but please bring in the birth certificate as soon as you locate it,” Neva instructed the woman. “In the meantime, we’d like to speak to you about the referral begun by Bundy’s previous school.”
“How did you know about that?” Mrs. Puissant asked, glaring.
“You signed permission for us to request any special education records,” Neva explained. “And Bundy’s school sent them over.”
“I did not give my consent for you to see those papers.” Mrs. Puissant jumped to her feet. “There’s nothing wrong with my boy. If you all are going to be as sneaky as those other schools, I’ll just teach him at home until my lease is up and we can move to a better distric
t.” With that, she snatched the documents from Skye’s hands and marched out of the office.
Skye closed her eyes. It would have been so much better if Neva hadn’t tricked Mrs. Puissant into signing consent for the special ed records. After building some rapport with the woman, maybe Skye could have persuaded her to trust the district, allow them to evaluate her son, and get him the help he needed.
“There goes a future guest of Jerry Springer,” Neva said after the door slammed behind Mrs. Puissant. Then the principal shook her head and added, “That went badly. I should have just enrolled the boy and approached the mother once he was settled in.”
“Probably.” Skye nodded. “But even if you’d done that, it’s hard to know how it would have turned out. Mrs. Puissant may have some intellectual challenges of her own. And it’s clear her experiences with school authorities haven’t been positive ones.”
“I guess the baptismal certificate and social security card prove the boy wasn’t kidnapped.” Neva fingered the tasteful diamond stud in her earlobe.
“With everything so public nowadays, it must be a lot tougher to hide an abducted child than it used to be,” Skye murmured, thinking about Emmy and all the information posted every second on Open Book.
“If that’s true, I suppose that’s a positive of social media.” Neva smiled wanly. “There aren’t as many places for criminals to hide anymore.”
“Yeah!” Skye made a mark in the air with her index finger. “One point for the good guys. On the other hand, there goes our privacy.”
“Now the whole world is like a small town and gossip is posted instantly,” Neva commented, then added, “But even if that woman is Bundy’s legal guardian, his future isn’t looking too bright.”
“Homeschooling is great for a lot of kids.” Skye twitched her shoulders. “Although I don’t think it works as well for children with certain special needs as it might for other students.”
“Let’s hope the next school district she moves into has more luck.” Neva straightened her spine. “But after spring break, I’d like you to get in touch with Mrs. Puissant and try to convince her to give us another chance. I think she sees me as the bad guy, so perhaps you can establish a better relationship with her and sway her.”
“I’ll be happy to give it a try.” Skye flipped open her schedule and penciled in a call to Mrs. Puissant on the Monday they returned from vacation. “But if you feel that he’s being neglected, and by your description of his physical appearance, it sure sounds that way, you really need to report your concerns to DCFS.”
“I plan to,” Neva said. “But we both know that the Department of Children and Family Services is overworked and understaffed. If Bundy isn’t in any physical danger, they won’t do too much.”
Skye nodded her agreement, then said good-bye to Neva and left the principal staring out her window with a frown marring her smooth forehead. Dealing with kids and their problems was a complicated business and educators often found it difficult to make the best decision when neither option was ideal.
As Skye walked past Ursula’s desk, the secretary handed her a pink slip of paper. It was a message from Homer, and at first Skye was afraid that either a student or a teacher was having a delayed emotional reaction to Blair’s death.
When she read the note, she was relieved the message wasn’t regarding that type of crisis, but she cringed when she saw that Mrs. Northrup was demanding another meeting. Before leaving school on Monday, Skye had arranged for Ashley Northrup’s file to be sent to Thorntree, so the fact that she wanted to meet with them again so soon was probably not a good sign.
Either the school had rejected Ashley’s application, or more likely, it had teamed up with Mrs. Northrup and encouraged her to begin due-process proceedings against Scumble River High, hoping to get the home district to pay the cost of the tuition. Holy crap! Skye had never been through a due-process hearing, and she really didn’t want to start now.
Skye hurried to her office and called Homer. She told him she was available for a conference anytime the next day. She also recommended inviting the special education director and the school district’s attorney, but Homer laughed off her suggestions and hung up.
She sat for a second, staring at the receiver. Tapping her fingernails on the phone’s plastic base, she contemplated contacting the lawyer and coordinator herself but reluctantly rejected the idea. Neither man would show up without the principal’s approval. The only thing calling them would accomplish would be to infuriate Homer.
Skye shuddered. Being in a meeting with an enraged Homer was like being trapped in a hamster wheel with a rabid gerbil—a lot more dangerous than it seemed.
The rest of the afternoon went smoothly, and Skye felt a sense of accomplishment when she left at three forty-five. As she pulled out of the school parking lot, heading toward the police station, she thought about checking her cell for messages, then decided against it. At this point, it was quicker to drive to the PD than to pull over, power up the device, and jump through the various hoops necessary to listen to any waiting voice mails or view her texts.
While she made her way into the station, she wondered which volleyball team members Wally had decided to reinterview. Her money was on Keely and the team captain. But something about Juliette hiding her intelligence made Skye suspicious of the girl. There was more to that young woman than she allowed the world to see.
Had Blair confronted Juliette? A teenager’s motives for their actions were far different from an adult’s. A fact to keep in mind when they talked to the volleyball players.
CHAPTER 18
F2T—Free to Talk
“What’s up?” Skye greeted her mother, who was once again on duty behind the dispatcher’s desk. “Is Wally with a suspect?”
May was on the telephone, but she covered the receiver with her palm and said, “He’s waiting for you in his office.”
“Thanks.” Skye waved, and May went back to her conversation. Phew! As Skye walked away, she wiped imaginary sweat from her brow. So far so good. Her mother hadn’t made any further reference to babies or Skye needing to lose weight.
Making her way down the narrow corridor, Skye paused in front of the coffee/interrogation room. She could hear several voices, but they were speaking too softly for her to pick out any words. The blinds were closed, indicating the space was occupied by persons of interest rather than an officer on an afternoon break. Which girl had been summoned, and was that her parents in there with her?
Wally met Skye as she started up the stairs. Giving her a quick hug and kiss, he said, “I asked Mr. and Mrs. Alvarez to bring their daughter in after school. They arrived a few minutes ago.”
“I figured you’d want to talk to the volleyball team captain.” Skye smiled at her correct guess. “Also, remember her father is the guy I chatted with at the dry cleaner’s. Even though he appeared to be a fan of Blair, I imagine you have a few questions for him, too.”
“Yep. About which volleyball parents didn’t admire the vic.” Wally put his hand on the small of Skye’s back, guiding her down the hallway. He stopped to open the door, then stepped back and allowed her to enter first.
The coffee/interrogation room was a no-frills space not unlike the teachers’ lounge at the high school. A counter with a sink ran the length of the sidewall, a long table took up most of the center area, and a couple of vending machines occupied the rear.
Having skipped lunch in order to call Blair’s sister, Skye heard her stomach growl as she passed by a plate of cookies near the coffee urn, reminding her that she was starving.
Wishing she were back on her honeymoon, enjoying a thick steak in the cruise ship’s dining room, Skye forced herself to smile warmly. She held out her hand to Roxy’s father and said, “I don’t know if you recall, but we met the other day at the dry cleaner’s. I’m Skye Denison-Boyd. In addition to my job with the school, I also work as a
psychological consultant to the police department.”
“I remember.” Mr. Alvarez shook her hand and said, “Call me Rock.” He gestured to the petite blonde sitting by his side. “This is my wife, Vanna.”
“Nice to meet you.” Skye shook the woman’s hand and then said to the couple, “And, of course, I know your daughter.” She turned to the girl. “Hi, Roxy. Just to be clear, in this setting I’m not acting as your school psychologist. What you say here is no longer private, but nothing that you told me in our session at school will be shared with Chief Boyd or the police. Do you understand what I just told you?”
Roxy rolled her eyes, but after a sharp look from her father, she said in a polite tone, “Yes, ma’am. Am I in trouble?”
Before Skye could answer the girl, Wally introduced himself. Then he and Skye took seats facing the family. Once they were settled, he clicked on the old-fashioned portable tape recorder sitting on the table. The city attorney had recently decreed that the police had to make an audio recording of all official interviews. Announcing the date and time, Wally asked, “Rock, Vanna, and Roxy Alvarez, are you aware you’re being recorded?”
After a nervous exchange of glances, all three answered yes.
“Please state your full names and addresses.” After the trio complied, Wally said to Roxy’s parents, “We have a few questions regarding Blair Hucksford’s murder that we’d like to ask your daughter, and in order to make her more comfortable, we are allowing you both to remain with her during this conversation.”
“Is she a suspect?” Mr. Alvarez asked. “Maybe she should have a lawyer.”
“We are talking to several of the volleyball team members, and as captain, Roxy has a unique perspective,” Wally said smoothly.
Skye noticed Wally avoided answering Mr. Alvarez’s questions.
“Well, I guess it’s okay, then.” Mr. Alvarez looked at his wife, whose expression was wary, then asked, “What do you want to know?”
Murder of An Open Book: A Scumble River Mystery (Scumble River Mysteries Book 18) Page 16