Murder of a Small-Town Honey

by Denise Swanson

Chief Boyd finally allowed Skye to go home, just before midnight. He questioned her and Charlie separately, making each wait while he talked to the other. When the county sheriff’s technicians were finished, he also insisted that Charlie go through the cabin and make a list of everything that had been taken. Charlie wasn’t missing a single thing.

  The phone started ringing the next morning at five-thirty. Skye was having a nightmare about police cars, so the shrilling of the phone merged into the sirens of her dreams, and it took her some time to understand what was going on.

  “Hello?” she mumbled, still not fully awake.

  Her mother said anxiously, “Where were you last night? I tried to reach you until almost midnight.”

  At the sound of May’s voice Skye sat up and swung her feet to the floor. “When I got to Charlie’s, his cabin had been vandalized. The police kept me until nearly twelve o’clock.”

  “Oh, my God! Are you all right? Is Charlie okay?” May’s voice cracked.

  “We’re fine. No one was home when it happened. Nothing was missing, but Charlie’s pretty upset.”

  “I’ll bake him a pie this morning and go visiting this afternoon.”

  “That sounds good. He probably needs help cleaning up, too. I’ll stop after work and do that,” Skye said.

  “You just concentrate on your new job and clearing Vince. I’ll clean up at Charlie’s. It won’t take long, his place is so small.”

  “Okay, Mom, but don’t overdo.” Skye waited for a reply. “Do you hear me?”

  “Yes, I hear you. Just remember I’m not an old lady yet.” With that pronouncement May returned to her original purpose in calling. “So, did you find out anything from Charlie?”

  “You called me at five-thirty in the morning to ask me that?”

  “I wanted to catch you before you left for school. Tonight I’m working the three-to-eleven shift, so if you need any information, let me know.”

  Skye itched to remind May, once again, that she didn’t have to be at school until seven-thirty, but realizing that her mom only heard what she wanted to hear, she said instead, “Let me think about it. I’ll call you back in half an hour.”

  After showering and making herself a cup of tea, Skye sat and thought about what she’d learned from Charlie last night. Mm, Honey was in trouble before she got to Scumble River, which makes it safe to assume that she didn’t change when she moved away. It’s also interesting that Honey hung around with Mike Young during his druggie period. And why doesn’t anyone seem to know a thing about a child?

  Skye decided she wanted May to use the police computers to find out about Mr. and Mrs. Adair’s accident and Mike Young’s arrest record. Meanwhile, she was going to talk to some of the people who would have been in high school during Honey’s senior year.

  A low-pressure system had rolled in during the night, and the predawn skies were overcast and threatening rain. It was only eighty degrees, but the humidity remained near 100 percent. Skye’s sinuses were throbbing, and she knew there would be a thunderstorm before the end of the day.

  Her schedule called for Thursday mornings at the elementary school, because of the PPS meeting at seven-thirty. Thanks to May’s early wake-up call, Skye arrived in plenty of time. She had been told by Caroline Green, the principal, that the meetings were held in the special education classroom.

  Standing awkwardly by the door, Skye was unsure of where to sit or what to do. She surveyed the room. Twelve desks were arranged in three pods of four each. The chairs were of molded orange plastic, designed for the height and build of six- and seven-year-old children. The sole adult chair was behind the teacher’s desk.

  Only a few minutes passed before Abby arrived, followed closely by two other women.

  “Skye, have you met everyone?” Abby started to take the chairs off the top of the student desks.

  “No, I haven’t.”

  Abby pointed to the woman at the teacher’s desk, who was dressed in a full denim skirt and a white oxford-cloth blouse. “This is Yvonne Smith, the special education teacher.” Turning to the other woman, who was now seated, Abby continued, “And this is Belle Whitney, the speech therapist.”

  Smiling, Skye sat down next to Belle. “I’m Skye Denison, the new psychologist.”

  Yvonne was what most people pictured when they thought of an elementary school teacher—round and soft, with a halo of gray-brown curls and a smiling face.

  She carried the teacher chair over to where Skye was sitting, then settled in and patted Skye on the arm. “Nice to meet you. I hope we’ll see a lot of you down here. I could sure use some new ideas. The kids seem to get tougher every year.”

  Belle nodded. “Yes, and each year there are more kids who need help.”

  The speech therapist looked like a whipped-cream factory that had exploded. She wore her pale-blond hair in elaborate curls and waves. Her white dress was made of a gauzy material, with rows of ruffles around the neck, sleeves, and hem. Even her eyeglasses had loops and curlicues on the frames.

  Skye looked at her watch. It was quarter to eight. “Does the principal usually attend these meetings?”

  “If she remembers,” Abby answered. “I didn’t put a note in her box this time, so she probably won’t show. We might as well get started.” Abby flipped open her notebook.

  “Okay, I’ll go first.” Yvonne poised her pencil over the list she had put on the table. “Since this is only our ninth day of school, I don’t have any kids to discuss, but the kindergarten teachers have asked for help with a fall screening.”

  “What kind of help? Help administering the test?” Skye leaned over to look at Yvonne’s paper.

  Yvonne nodded. “That, too, but first they need a test to administer.”

  “They don’t like the instrument they have now? Do you know if they’re looking for something that measures readiness skills or processing abilities?” Skye rummaged in her tote, looking for a test catalog.

  Yvonne laughed, not unkindly. “We’ve never had kindergarten screening before. There is no test to like or dislike. They probably don’t even know what they want to assess. My advice would be to start with something that tells them if the kids are ready for kindergarten. Looking at memory or the ability to distinguish one sound from another is more information than they would know what to do with at this point.”

  “Oh.” Skye was overwhelmed by the idea of single handedly setting up a screening for 150 five-year-olds. “I guess I’d better talk to the kindergarten teachers myself.” She flipped through her appointment book. “How about next Tuesday before school?”

  After making a note, Yvonne patted Skye’s arm again. “Don’t worry, I’ll let them know that’s when you’re free and they’ll be there.”

  “I’d like to attend too, if that’s okay?” Belle looked up from her own appointment book. “Since I have to screen all kindergartners for speech and language delays anyway, maybe we can pick a test that will do double duty.”

  “That would be great.” Skye’s pencil hovered. “Is Tuesday morning all right with you?”

  “It’s fine. I’ll bring some test catalogs.” Belle made a note in the margin of her book.

  Abby said, “I’ll be doing the vision and hearing screenings on Monday.”

  “Do you screen the whole school?” asked Skye.

  “Almost. I test all the kids in special education, all the kindergartners, all the new kids who have moved in, and all of the third and fifth grades.”

  “Is there anything else? It’s almost nine o’clock, so the kids will be here any minute.” Yvonne stood.

  Skye handed each of the women a list of twenty-six names. “These are the children who are past due for reevaluation. We all have a part in the case study, so I wanted to know what timetable you all would like to follow in getting these assessments up to code.”

  “Well, I don’t have any part in a case study,” Yvonne said, picking up her chair.

  Skye tried to decide the best way of phrasing her request
. “I know you haven’t been consulted in the past, but that really was a waste of knowledge. Who knows these kids better than you? We need your input, and I was thinking that maybe you could do the section titled ‘Current Educational Functioning.’ ”

  “But I wouldn’t have any idea how to write that type of report.” Yvonne let the chair drop.

  “I’ll give you a model to go by.” It was Skye’s turn to pat Yvonne’s arm.

  After a moment Yvonne nodded. “Okay, I’ve always said you guys didn’t listen enough to what the teacher had to say about the student you were evaluating. I guess it’s time to put my money where my mouth is. This will give me a chance to be heard.”

  Skye was surprised at how easy that had been. She turned to Abby. “Lloyd mentioned that you do the health history, since we don’t have a social worker, and I do the adaptive part. Is this how it works in all the schools?”

  “That’s how we’ve done it in the past. But I was thinking—I have to talk to the parents anyway, so if you gave me the social history form you want to use, I could ask them the questions on it and you could use that for your report. It would save both you and the parents some time.”

  “I’d owe you big time. I was dreading that aspect of the job. Why don’t they hire a social worker?” Skye looked at all three women.

  “We’ve tried,” Abby answered. “We put ads in the professional social work journals and the Chicago newspapers. Last year we even sent a representative to the school social worker convention. Not one person signed up to be interviewed.”

  “But why?” Skye asked. “The salary is a little low, but not that far out of alignment.”

  Abby and Belle looked at each other. Abby nudged Belle with her elbow. “I think we’ve been blackballed.”

  Everyone laughed.

  “Seriously, the social workers we’ve had since I’ve been here wanted everything to be their own way, and that’s just not going to happen in Scumble River. When you add the fact that they were all outsiders, and no one in town would tell them anything . . .” Abby looked to the others for confirmation.

  Belle nodded. “I’ve lived here for ten years, and people are only now beginning to trust me. And I don’t ask them personal questions.”

  “It is an advantage, having lived here all of my life.” Abby stood. “Half the time I don’t even have to ask questions, I already know all the dirt.”

  Skye tapped the list she was holding. “Back to my original question. When, and at what rate, are we going to tackle this list?”

  No one answered.

  “How about three a month? Since the three of us are all split among three schools, I figure we’re all here about a day and a half a week.”

  Everyone nodded.

  Before anyone could say anything else, a stream of students started filling the room.

  A little redheaded boy with a crew cut marched up to Skye. He looked familiar, but she couldn’t place him. “You’re sitting in my chair.”

  She got up and squatted down in front of him. “I apologize. My name is Ms. Denison, and sometimes I have to come to your room before school. Would it be okay if I use your chair when you’re not here?”

  The boy smiled, revealing that his front teeth were missing. “Sure, but you gotta get off it when I say so.”

  Skye stuck out her hand. “Deal.”

  Yvonne noticed the boy for the first time. She walked around her desk and stood near him. “Junior, it’s time to sit down. Maybe Ms. Denison will visit you again sometime.”

  Junior. Where have I heard that name before? Skye tapped her chin, lost in thought.

  Belle and Abby had gathered their folders and appointment books and were heading out the door when Skye caught up with them. “Abby, were you in Vince’s class during high school?”

  “No, I was a year behind.”

  “Did you know Honey Adair?”

  “That little ponytailed porcelain doll? How could I forget her?”

  Putting her arm through Abby’s, Skye steered her toward the health room. “Can we talk?”

  With a wave, Belle set out in the opposite direction.

  Skye and Abby settled themselves in the health room after shutting the door. This room looked just like the one at the junior high, and Skye was betting that the one at the high school would also be the same. Abby sat at the desk while Skye made do with the cot.

  “So, why do you want to know about Honey?” Abby asked, leaning back and crossing her legs.

  “You know the police had Vince in for questioning?”

  She nodded. “Yeah, but they let him go that same night.”

  “Only because the attorney I found for him wouldn’t let him say anything. They didn’t have enough evidence to arrest him, but he’s still their number-one suspect. According to Mom, he’s their only suspect,”

  “So, what are you doing?” Abby frowned.

  “My mom thinks, and I have to agree, that unless we find out who really killed Honey, the police are going to keep trying to nail Vince.

  “In order to find out who killed her, I need to know as much about her as possible. Right now I’m trying to get a picture of what she was like. What do you remember about her?” Skye squirmed, trying to get comfortable on the lumpy vinyl cot, and vowed to race Abby for the chair next time.

  “She was the only person I’ve ever met that Gandhi would have slapped.”

  “Why was that?”

  “Honey was just plain mean. She was so tiny, you weren’t prepared for her to turn on you. She went out of her way to say hurtful things to people. That one had a talent for picking out the weakest kids around and tearing them to shreds. When you add the fact that she was never interested in a boy unless he was dating someone else . . .” The expression on Abby’s face was one of disgust.

  “Boy, she was a real witch.”

  “With a capital B,” added Abby.

  Skye grabbed a pencil from the desk. “Who were some of her loves du jour?”

  “Most guys were just one-night stands, and their girlfriends eventually took them back.”

  “So you’re saying if sex were fast food there would have been golden arches over her head.”

  Abby didn’t smile. “Before she latched on to Mike Young, he was pretty serious about Darleen Ames. They never did get back together.”

  “Darleen Ames. Is she Darleen Boyd now?”

  “Yep.”

  “Who else’s life did she mess around with?” Skye lifted her tote onto her lap.

  “Well, we were on the softball team together that summer she moved here, and she seemed very close to the coach.”

  Skye leaned forward. “Who was the coach? Is he still in town?”

  “Sure, you see him every day. It was Lloyd Stark.” Abby hastened to add, “Just remember that was only an impression I had, not a fact.”

  “Understood. But it certainly is food for thought.” She hated to broach the next question. “Who was Vince going out with when she hooked him?”

  Abby looked away. “He wasn’t seeing anyone seriously, but he and I had dated a couple of times.”

  “That must have made you feel pretty angry.”

  “I wanted to kill her.”

  CHAPTER 13

  All Shook Up

  After speaking to Abby, Skye had tried to concentrate on setting up a counseling schedule and observing in different classrooms. At eleven-thirty she gave up and called May, suggesting that they meet for lunch. Now she sat in a booth at McDonald’s, waiting for her mother and gazing out the window at the parking lot. If she craned her neck she could see the spot that Mrs. Gumtree’s trailer had occupied. She was surprised that the area showed no trace of either the parade or the murder.

  May slid onto the bench opposite Skye. “I’m glad you called me. Meeting for lunch was a good idea. This way we can discuss the case without your father knowing what we’re up to.”

  “Why don’t you want Dad to know?”

  “Because he doesn’t know how to kee
p a secret.”

  “That’s true.” Skye stood up. “I’ll get our food, and we can talk while we eat. I only have half an hour. What do you want, Mom?”

  “Gee, I don’t know. I guess a grilled chicken sandwich and a Diet Coke. I’ll eat some of your fries.” May reached into her wallet and thrust a ten-dollar bill at Skye. “My treat.”

  “I can buy my own lunch.”

  They glared at each other for an instant before Skye acquiesced and reluctantly accepted the money. She shot May one more look before leaving to place their order.

  Skye was gone less than five minutes. She handed May her change before putting the brown plastic tray on the table and settling back on her side of the booth. While May put away the money, Skye unwrapped her Big Mac and took a bite.

  May removed a foil pack of moistened towelettes from her purse and tore it open. She shook out the paper square and thoroughly wiped the tabletop. After flattening the wrinkled paper from her sandwich into a makeshift place mat, she took a handful of Skye’s fries and put a straw in her cup. She smoothed a napkin on her lap.

  Skye watched this ritual with interest, having seen it only a million or so times before today. “Are we comfy yet?”

  May looked up, but did not respond to Skye’s sarcasm. “That’s a pretty outfit. Don’t forget to put your napkin in your lap.”

  Having forgotten momentarily what she’d put on that morning, Skye looked down at what she was wearing—a deep blue wrap-style dress with a cascade collar. “Thanks.”

  “Why don’t your shoes match?”

  Since the pumps she was wearing were made for walking, Skye walked away from that booby trap. “If we’re through with our housekeeping chores and fashion bloopers, perhaps we can discuss what I’ve uncovered so far this morning.”

  “Shoot.”

  Leaning forward, Skye lowered her voice, even though there was no one anywhere near them. “Okay, you remember the things you’re supposed to research for me tonight?”

  May nodded impatiently. “Yes, I wrote it all down. I’m not senile. What else have you found out?”