“Twinkies?” Skye hadn’t heard that expression before.
“Overly processed, too sweet to be real, and leave a bad aftertaste.” When Skye still look puzzled, Elvira explained, “Most of the Pops are in my class.”
“You meant the popular girls?” Skye studied the adolescent, who nodded, then flung herself into a chair and began examining her belly-button ring. She was dressed in low-riding wide-legged denims and a hooded crop top. Her dyed black hair fell to the middle of her back, and her face was eerily pale.
Elvira hung out with the Rebels. Of Scumble River High’s cliques, it was by far the roughest. And unlike the teacher-pleasing groups, they did not volunteer information to adults. Skye was counting on the fact that over the past four years she had built a relationship with Elvira and her family, odd as that bond might be.
Skye started to offer Elvira a piece of candy before she remembered that Wally had suggested she not keep any food in her office for the time being. Without a bribe, how could she loosen up the teen?
Hmm, giving her an opportunity to show how smart she is might work. “Hey, do you know anything about cell phones?”
“If someone said I had one at school, they were lying.” Elvira peered suspiciously out from under her hair. “Mine’s out of minutes and I have to wait until I get my Social Security check the first of the month before I can pay the bill.”
“No one said anything. I was just wondering if you could help with mine.” Skye dug in her tote bag and handed the small silver device to the girl. “I can’t figure out how to get into my voice mail.”
“You’re supposed to be so smart, and you can’t figure out how to use your own cell phone.” Disdain dripped from Elvira’s words.
Skye stopped herself from rolling her eyes and leaned back in her chair. “No one can be good at everything.” Teenagers had attitudes rivaled only by French waiters, and required similar treatment: Never let them see that they got under your skin. “So, can you figure it out?”
“I’ll take a look.” Elvira flipped open the phone and pressed the ON button.
While the girl studied the keypad, Skye said as casually as she could, “Hey, I saw your brother Friday night. Interesting business he’s starting.”
Elvira snorted, but didn’t shift her attention from the phone.
“He mentioned he decided to become a Ghostflusher when you told him how badly I’d been frightened during the first haunted-house dress rehearsal.”
Elvira’s fingers were flying over the tiny buttons, but she paused to smirk. “Yeah. She said you were practically peeing your pants.”
“Really? Who said that?” Skye watched the girl closely, but she still seemed engrossed in the electronic device. “I thought I was alone when I was that panicked.”
“The social worker. Last Monday I stopped by the Scoop office to talk to Xenia, and Ms. Jennings was telling all the kids there the story about how you kicked in the doors of the bathroom stalls and were afraid of a toy ax and screamed when you ran into a rubber hand in the hall.” Elvira passed Skye the phone. “Anyway, you press this little triangle on the left, scroll down to voice mail, and type in your PIN number.”
“Thanks.” Skye wondered what her PIN number was. “I figured you could help.”
“Yeah.” Elvira got up and sauntered toward the door. “And you figured if you gave me something to do, I’d tell you what you wanted to know.”
“Uh. I didn’t . . .” Skye’s cheeks flushed. “Well, I mean—”
“I can read you like a comic book.” Elvira shook her head. “Just ask next time. I really hate it when adults try to manipulate me.”
“Sorry,” Skye called as the girl walked out of the office, slamming the door behind her. Shoot. She’d have to make things up to her somehow, but right now she had to consider what Elvira had said.
Why would Jackie ridicule Skye to the students? What did she gain? Skye had had a bad feeling about Jackie from the beginning, but she’d written it off as jealousy. Except now that she thought about it, it seemed that all the trouble had started when the social worker was hired.
Since Jackie’s arrival, both Skye and the school had been having nothing but problems. The social worker had been the one to find the chemical bombs, insist on talking to the wannabe mommies at the junior high, and magically speak Russian—not that Vassily had responded to one word of it.
Jackie had also changed the office locks and failed to give Skye the new key, which resulted in her being late for an important meeting. Skye had a slashed tire, a rope strung at her height in her assigned spot at A Ghoul’s Night Out, almost been run over, and had poison added to her cookies.
Not to mention the tricks that had been played on her in the haunted-house bathroom. Come to think of it, Jackie had been acting the part of Lizzie Borden, so it was probably her ax that had been strategically staged in the handicapped stall.
Could Jackie be behind all of it? And if so, why? Skye needed proof. A good place to start was Jackie’s background. And in order to look into her history, all Skye had to do was persuade her godfather, Charlie, aka the school board president, to get her Jackie’s personnel file. Piece of cake. Or not.
CHAPTER 23
Worlds Collide
“Please, please, please, Uncle Charlie,” Skye pleaded into the phone.
“No. I can’t let you see Jackie’s personnel file.” Charlie’s voice was firm.
“It’s a matter of life and death.”
“Now, Skye, you don’t really think that nice lady is trying to kill you.”
“Yes, I do!” Skye yelled, her patience wearing thin. “I told you, Simon found evidence my cookies were poisoned.”
“But not that she poisoned them. You admitted that anyone could have gotten into your office.”
“Please, Uncle Charlie, you’re the only one who can help me.”
“Well . . .”
“You’d do it for Vince,” Skye whined.
“No . . .”
“What do you think Mom will say when I’m murdered, and she finds out you could have saved me?” Skye played her trump card—Charlie thought of May as the daughter he’d never had, and he would do anything for her.
“What exactly in the file do you want to see?”
Skye thought fast. Charlie was weakening. She wanted to see the whole thing, but if she couldn’t, what was the most important part? “Did anyone check her references?”
“No.”
“You’re kidding.” Skye knew that the Scumble River School District didn’t set high standards, but still . . . “How could the board not check her references?”
“You have no idea what hiring is like nowadays.” Charlie’s voice bristled. “Say we do call the people she’s listed as references; no one will say anything negative because they’re all too afraid of being sued. The only thing we can find out is if she was fired or if she quit. And look at you; you were fired for doing your job—not because you did anything wrong. So calling is just a big waste of time. Jackie had a graduate school diploma and a school social worker certificate from the state of Illinois. That was enough.”
“I can see your point, but I still want to try to talk to the people she listed as references.”
There was a long pause before Charlie caved. “Okay. Give me half an hour. I’ve got to go over and get the file from Wraige’s secretary. Any suggestion as to why I might want it?”
“You’re the board president; order her to hand it over.”
After hanging up, Skye straightened her desk, packed her tote bag, and told Opal she wasn’t feeling well, so she was taking half a sick day.
When Skye arrived at the Up A Lazy River Motor Court office, Charlie handed her the list. “Here. I hope you’re happy,” he complained. “I had to agree to take Karolyn to the lodge dinner in order to get this without an explanation.”
“Thank you, Uncle Charlie.” Skye smiled to herself. So Karolyn wanted to go out with Charlie. That was extremely interesting, consid
ering it was common knowledge that she was already boffing her boss. Maybe Dr. Wraige and his secretary had had a tiff.
Charlie shook his head. “I’m leaving for a doctor’s appointment. Lock up when you’re finished.”
“No problem.” Skye waved Charlie out the door. “Remember, don’t draw to an inside straight.” She knew his appointment was really a poker game.
Skye checked the clock. It was past two. Not bothering to take off her coat, she quickly took a seat at Charlie’s desk and pulled the phone toward her. Taking into account the time difference between Illinois and the East Coast, she was worried about catching people before they left for the day.
As she dialed the first number, a school district in New York, she crossed her fingers, hoping the personnel manager would be available. Luck was with her, but the person Skye spoke to stated that no one named Jacqueline Jennings had ever taught for them.
The next person Skye tried was Jackie’s internship supervisor. That woman said that Jackie had been a promising young social worker. When Skye questioned the use of the word young—after all, Jackie had been eight years older than most interns, the woman claimed that Jacqueline Jennings was in her mid-twenties.
The last name on the list was that of a professor at the university from which Jackie’s graduate degree had been issued. He said that the Jacqueline Jennings he’d had as a student had been killed in a hit-and-run accident last December, a few months into her first year as a school social worker.
Stunned, Skye let the receiver drop into the cradle. The real Jacqueline Jennings had never worked for the school district listed on her résumé, was ten years younger than the one in Scumble River, and was actually deceased. Something was definitely not adding up. It was time to call the police.
Wally listened to all Skye had found out, then said, “Interesting, but there’s no hard evidence, so about all I can do is drop around school tomorrow and talk to her. I haven’t met her yet, so I can use that as an excuse.”
“But she’s pretending to be a dead person. Stealing their identity.”
“Maybe. Or maybe there’s some kind of mix-up. We need more evidence before the police can get involved.”
Skye bit back a scream of frustration. “I’ll bet the fingerprints on my cookie package are hers.”
“Unfortunately, if she isn’t in the system, we can’t compel her to let us fingerprint her.”
“But she had to be fingerprinted in order for the school to employ her.”
“Yes, but those prints are only compared to the criminal database. They aren’t actually entered into a database,” Wally explained.
Skye felt as if her head were going to explode. “How about if I get her prints on something and bring them in?”
“Even if they match, we can’t arrest her. Since you share an office with her, any halfway competent attorney would claim Jackie had merely helped herself to one of your cookies.”
“Crap!”
“Look,” Wally soothed. “I think you’re on the right track, but the question comes back to motive. Why is she doing this? If we could figure that out, it would help us build a case. Do you have any theory?”
“I have no idea.”
“Maybe when the school board looks into her background, something will give us a lead.” Wally paused. “If it turns out she really has stolen someone’s identity, we can charge her with that, and she might confess or let something slip during the interrogation.”
“ ‘Maybe.’ ‘Might.’ ” Skye’s voice had a sarcastic edge. “What am I supposed to do in the meantime? Wait for her to try to kill me again?”
“You’re right,” Wally agreed. “It’s probably not a good idea for you to be alone until we figure this out. I should have thought of that Friday night after we found out about Gloria. How about if you move in with me?”
She froze. This was not the way she wanted the next step in their relationship to come about. Besides, her mother would kill her before Jackie could. Years ago, Skye had lived with her fiancé in New Orleans and gotten away with it, but Scumble River was a small town, and both she and Wally were public figures.
Wally broke into her thoughts. “You don’t have to decide right now. We’ll talk about it tonight. Are you still at school?”
“No. I’m at Charlie’s.”
“Good. Stay there. I’ll finish what I’m working on, swing by the motor court, and follow you out to your house so you can drop off your car; then we’ll go to Laurel. We both need a nice dinner away from town.”
“Fine.” Skye fought to calm down. None of this was Wally’s fault. “How long will you be?”
“Fifteen, twenty minutes, max.”
“Okay. See you then.” Skye hung up, not satisfied with Wally’s wait-and-see attitude. She wasn’t letting Jackie get away with Annette’s and Gloria’s deaths. And she wasn’t prepared to allow her own life to continue to be destroyed either.
Wait a second. Could that be Jackie’s motive? It sure seemed as if she wanted to ruin Skye’s life, not kill her. What would doing that accomplish? Revenge was the only reason she could think of. But revenge for what? Skye had never met the woman before—at least, not that she knew of.
Okay, if not payback, then what? Well, if Skye were fired, Jackie would have the office all to herself. Hmm. Was she onto something? Could Jackie not only want Skye gone from school, but gone from Scumble River as well? Did she think she could scare her away? But again, why would Jackie want that?
Skye took a deep breath. Speculation wasn’t getting her anywhere. She needed facts. Maybe Wally couldn’t do anything to obtain information, but she could.
It was only three thirty. Jackie had said that she was meeting with a parent at quarter to four, which meant she couldn’t possibly leave school for another forty-five minutes. Certainly that was enough time for Skye to have a look around her cabin, especially since Jackie was staying right there at the Up A Lazy River Motor Court. Skye wished she had her Taser with her, but she needed to seize the opportunity.
Recalling that Charlie had mentioned that Jackie was in the cabin directly across from the office, Skye grabbed the master key from the desk drawer and stepped outside. The parking lot was empty and the motor court appeared deserted. Most people who checked in arrived late in the evening, leaving the interstate only to grab some sleep before getting back on the road.
Skye took a pair of rubber gloves from the first-aid kit in her car, then made her way across the asphalt. She knocked on Jackie’s door, waited, and knocked again. When no one answered, she used the master key and slipped inside. The drapes were drawn, so she flicked on the overhead light.
Once her eyes adjusted, Skye blinked, not sure that what she was looking at was real. Several moments later she still couldn’t comprehend what she was seeing, but as her brain began to process it, she gasped.
Covering the walls were hundreds of pictures, and every one of them had Jackie’s face Photoshopped onto Skye’s body. Jackie must have been following her around for months and months, maybe as long as a year, snapping photographs with a telephoto lens. There were images of Skye at the grocery store, at school, at her parents’, out with Wally, driving the Bel Air.
Feeling violated and defiled, Skye turned to leave. Why would anyone do this? A shiver ran up her spine. How sick did someone have to be to try to become another person? How mentally ill did someone have to be to try to erase the essence of themselves?
Her hand on the doorknob, Skye paused. She couldn’t run away. This might be her only chance to prove Jackie had set the trap that killed Annette and poisoned the cookies that killed Gloria. Skye had to stay cool and not freak out. Taking a calming breath, she moved over to the dresser and snapped on the latex gloves.
In the bottom drawer, concealed inside a tampon box, she found IDs of every description. There were driver’s licenses in a half dozen names, all from different states, credit cards, Social Security cards, and an Illinois State Police identification card in the name Veronica
Vail.
Veronica Vail. Why did that name seem familiar? Wait, wasn’t that the special agent who had turned up to help with the spa murder? The one who had mysteriously disappeared, leaving a wig and a theatrical makeup kit behind?
Skye flipped through the rest of the IDs and found one for Imogene Ingersoll. Skye remembered her, too, a contestant in the cooking contest Skye had participated in last spring. She’d bribed her way into the finalist position and been asking questions about Skye and her family.
Now that Skye knew that Jackie was both Veronica and Imogene, she could see the resemblance. The nose was the same, as was the size of the eyes, and the small mole on her right cheek. These features were hard to alter without plastic surgery.
But apart from those details, Jackie’s disguises had been amazing. She had changed her hair and eye color each time, as Imogene she’d worn glasses, and she’d even changed her build, going from a slim Veronica to an average Imogene and then to a curvy Jackie.
Skye shoved everything back in the box and forced herself to continue searching. So far all she could prove was that Jackie had pretended to be three different people.
The night table contained a three-ring binder with notes on Skye—her history, her habits, and her family. Ick! This was beyond creepy. There was nothing remarkable in the tiny closet, under the bed, or in the rest of the room. The only place left to investigate was the bathroom.
Skye flipped the light switch and stood in the doorway looking around. Her search would be easier if she knew what she was trying to find. The counter contained various toiletries, but nothing suspicious. Where would Jackie hide something incriminating?
She checked the toilet tank, behind the shower curtain, and in back of the door. She stood tapping her finger on the sink, letting her gaze wander from floor to ceiling. Ooh, wait a minute. What was that dark spot in the light fixture?
Dragging a chair from the bedroom into the bathroom, Skye positioned it under the light and climbed up. She carefully unscrewed the globe and shook a small bottle into her palm. Turning it, she read the label—it was prescription eyedrops, and Skye would bet the farm they contained atropine. She had the smoking gun—so to speak.
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