"Sure. She'll never know I was there," Skye said brightly.
He shook his head mournfully. "She'll know and she'll chew my butt for it." Turning back to the table, he selected a manual and paged through it, wrinkling his forehead in concentration.
Skye persisted, trying to recapture his attention. "When are your PPS meetings scheduled, and are there any other meetings you want me to attend?"
"We only have faculty meetings. The secretary can give you the dates for those, but you don't have to come." Homer didn't take his eyes from the page he was reading.
"You mean you don't meet regularly with the psychologist, social worker, nurse ..."
"We don't need that here. Anyone gives us any trouble, we kick 'em out. They can't keep up in class, we flunk 'em."
"How about the kids who come to you with an Individ-
ual Education Plan in place? We're legally obligated to provide whatever assistance that IEP prescribes," Skye pointed out.
Losing his patience, Homer slammed the book shut. "I told you, Neva takes care of all that."
Skye got up, clutching the keys, afraid he would change his mind and demand them back. Still, she felt obligated to try once more. "So, you never have PPS meetings or staffings or anything like that?"
"Look, if it's really important to you, talk to Neva when she gets back. You two can set things up, but I am not going to any more meetings." Homer turned his back and reached again for the manual.
Having won a small battle in what she was just beginning to suspect might turn into a full-fledged war, Skye hurried toward the guidance office.
It was cool and pleasant—since it was in one of the newer additions to the high school, it was air-conditioned. Although the room was dark, Skye didn't turn on the overhead light; instead she switched on the desk lamp. She noticed one file cabinet after another lining the walls, the drawers labeled with various years. It looked as if all the records since Scumble River High was first opened were stored in this room.
Skye unlocked the drawer identified with the most recent year and inspected its contents. She gathered up a pile of the most promising-looking files, hoping they were confidential special education records that contained Individual Education Plans, and not just cumulative folders containing report cards and group achievement tests.
She sat down behind the desk. The chair was wonderfully comfortable, deep and enveloping, the soft black leather aged and shaped to perfection. She sighed with pleasure at the unexpected physical comfort and started to work.
First she wrote down the name of the student on her
legal pad. In the next column she listed the date on which he or she needed to receive a three-year reevaluation. Finally, after reading the IEP, which usually consisted of fifteen or more pages, Skye determined whether that child was supposed to be receiving counseling. Later she would have to go back and read the most recent psychological evaluation report on each student who was enrolled in the special education program.
Several hours went by, and Skye was about to stop for lunch when she heard a tentative tapping on the frosted-glass window of the door.
Opening it, she found the secretary standing there, twitching. "Were you looking for me, Opal?"
Opal nodded. "Oh, my goodness, yes. Mr. Knapik is out of the building and the police are here."
A sudden wave of nausea left Skye unable to think clearly. It must be about Vmce.
"Are you all right? You're pale as milk." Opal looked at her curiously.
Skye took a deep breath. "I'm fine. I must have gotten up too fast or my blood sugar's low. It's getting close to lunchtime."
"Could you talk to the police first? With Mrs. Llewellyn gone and Mr. Knapik out of the building, I'm not sure what I should do. Should I call the superintendent?" Opal asked with a touch of panic.
Shaking her head, Skye almost pushed Opal out of the room. "Why don't you ask the police to come in here where we can have some privacy? Give me a minute to put these folders back."
In the few moments it took Skye to tidy up the files and lock them away, she realized how foolish she was to think the police would come to tell her they'd rearrested Vince. The chief had been ready to put Skye in jail Monday night when he found out she was the one responsible for May's behavior and Loretta Steiner's presence. After that incident,
Skye would be the last person on Earth the police would notify.
Opal ushered Deputy McCabe and a Scumble River officer whom Skye didn't know into the office. Opal left, closing the door behind her. Both men stood in front of the desk and looked down at Skye.
"I'm Skye Denison, the district psychologist."
"I'm Deputy McCabe. You remember me from the murder last Sunday?" When she nodded he continued, "This is Officer Roy Quirk. What can you tell us about a girl named Phoebe Unger?"
"Nothing. I'm brand-new here, and I've never heard of her." She indicated chairs. "Please sit. What kind of information are you looking for?"
They sat, the leather of the utility belts around their waists creaking.
Quirk settled back and crossed his legs. "We'd like to know who she hangs out with, who her boyfriend is, what the school's impression of her is."
Skye nodded. "I'm sure we can get that information for you. It's not confidential. But Mr. Knapik, the principal, will want to know why you're so interested in Phoebe."
"That's official police business. There's no need for you to know, little lady." McCabe rubbed a smudge from the toe of his perfectly polished shoe.
Leaning forward, Skye made eye contact with each man in turn. "I certainly understand your need to keep things quiet in an ongoing investigation. And that it isn't always an easy task in a town this size. But you must understand that we need to know what you think she's done. If her actions make her a danger to our other students, we must be informed."
"We've had an anonymous informant tell us that her boyfriend, who does not go to school here, may be involved in a series of arson-style fires." Quirk straightened the crease of his pants.
McCabe glared at him.
"I see. So, at this time she does not appear to be a danger to herself or others. Correct?" Skye looked from one man to the other.
Both men nodded.
"Fine. Then I'll talk to Mr. Knapik when he gets back. With his permission, I'll speak to her teachers and try to get the information you need."
Quirk handed her his card. "Call me as soon as possible."
When school ended that day, Skye drove straight to the Scumble River Police Department. She was going to be a good citizen and deliver the information about Phoebe Unger to Officer Quirk in person. If, while she was there, she happened to chat with Chief Boyd about Honey Adair's murder, who would she be hurting?
Walking up to the counter, she raised her voice. "Hi, Thea. How are you? I haven't seen you in ages."
Thea Jones, one of Scumble River's longtime dispatchers, opened the gate and motioned Skye through, then gave her a hug. "Skye, honey, how you doin'? I'm sure sorry for the trouble your family's havin'."
Skye hugged her back. "Me, too. I hope Chief Boyd finds the real killer soon. It's just silly to think of Vince as a murderer."
"Ain't that right?" Thea sat back down. "Sometimes these men around here don't think too good. None of us dispatchers think he done it."
Leaning over, Skye kissed her on the cheek. "Thanks. I have some information on another case for Officer Quirk. Is he available?"
"Yep. He's in with the chief. I'll let 'em know you're here."
Following a short conversation on the intercom, Thea
turned to Skye. "Go right into the chief's office, honey. They both want to hear what you got to say."
Smiling to herself, Skye thought, How convenient. I won't even have to ask to see Chief Boyd.
He was standing on the threshold. When Skye approached, he motioned her inside and closed the door. Office Quirk was in one chair, and Skye took the other visitor's seat.
A faint smell of stale cigarette smoke lingered in the air. Skye looked around but didn't see any ashtrays, so she suspected the odor was from before Chief Boyd's time. His office was small and windowless, its gray walls lined with file cabinets and bookshelves. Linoleum that might have been blue when it was first put down but now looked silvery covered the floor. Shrouding the top of the chief's desk were papers of every shape and color. His chair was cracked green vinyl.
Chief Boyd sat on the edge of his desk, pushing a stack of manila files out of his way. "So, Skye, what can you tell us about Phoebe Unger?"
"Well, she certainly talks tough. No one knows if she carries out her threats, but if anyone crosses her or she thinks anyone has crossed her, she wants revenge."
Roy Quirk asked, "Can you be more specific?"
"I talked to a couple of girls she used to be friendly with last year. They seemed genuinely afraid of her—and it takes a lot to scare a teenager."
"Did they say why?" Chief Boyd looked up from the file he had been sifting through.
"This boyfriend you're investigating tried to break up with her last year. Phoebe was furious and vowed to get him back. She found out who his new girlfriend was, waited until they were out on a date, and trashed the girl's car."
"Why didn't she report it to the police?" demanded Roy.
"Was there any proof Phoebe did it?" asked the chief.
"It wasn't reported to the police because the girl was terrified. She refused to have anything more to do with Phoebe's ex-boyfriend. As to proof, yes, I'd say they had proof."
"You sound pretty sure. What kind of evidence did they have?" The Chief made a note in the file.
"Phoebe didn't give the boyfriend back his school jacket when he broke up with her. When they found the car, there was a dummy behind the wheel, wearing what was left of the jacket. It was stabbed through the chest with a butcher knife."
Both men looked at each other. Roy got up, excused himself, and left the office.
"Why do I think you guys are really after Phoebe and not the boyfriend?" Skye asked, trying to get comfortable on the hard chair.
"You don't want to know."
"You're right, I don't want to, but if the other kids are in danger I need to."
Chief Boyd moved from behind his desk to the chair next to Skye. He took her hand. "Do you trust me, Skye?"
She was having trouble keeping her breathing even. His tone had changed from official to intimate. "Yes, I... I guess so." Part of her wanted to jerk her fingers away, but another part of her remembered that summer when she was fifteen.
He seemed to sense her agitation. Letting her hand go, he moved away. "We'll make sure Phoebe doesn't hurt anyone else."
She would have liked to know what was going on with Phoebe Unger, but decided to let that matter drop and see what she could find out about Vince.
"Chief?"
"Do you think you could call me Wally? You make me feel a hundred years old calling me Chief Boyd all the time.
I'm only eight years older than you, and those eight years seem a lot shorter now that you're not fifteen anymore."
This was definitely not what Skye expected. She didn't know how to react. In her confusion she wasn't sure if he was flirting or just being friendly. The feelings she'd once had for him were resurfacing, but he was married, and she wasn't about to forget that.
"No, I'm far from fifteen. It seems like lots of things have changed since I've been gone. How's the murder investigation going?"
"I really can't talk about that."
"Oh, I know you can't go into detail, but it must have been quite a surprise when Mrs. Gumtree's agent identified her as Honey Adair." When the chief didn't answer, Skye went on, "Or did you already have an inkling as to her real identity?"
"What makes you say that?"
"Mom says there was a lot of secret activity going on here night before last." Skye watched him carefully. "And I find it hard to believe that no one recognized her. After all, she lived here for almost a year."
Wally said, "That was over sixteen years ago. And you have to remember she didn't want to be recognized, so she stayed away from people. She only appeared outside of her trailer for storytelling on Saturday. The only ones who saw her close up were children."
"Still, the whole thing is very convenient for someone. You don't seriously suspect Vince, do you?" Skye's eyes never left his face.
"They were his scissors."
"Half the town gets their hair cut at his salon. Anyone could have stolen them."
"True, but how many people dated Honey Adair in high school?" Chief Boyd went around his desk and sat down. The barriers were back in place.
"Half the town, or so I've heard."
"But Vince was the last one before she disappeared. Why did she leave so mysteriously?"
"What did Charlie Patukas say about her leaving?" Skye put both hands on the edge of the desk and leaned forward.
"This whole thing has been quite a surprise for him. He hadn't heard from or seen Honey since she left town. I thought the guy was going to have a stroke when I told him who Mrs. Gumtree really was. And then to find out she had left him all her money—the poor old man is still in shock."
Skye worded her next question carefully, not wanting to arouse his suspicions. "Did Honey leave anything else to him?"
Chief Boyd looked puzzled. "Like what?"
"You know, property, things like that." Skye glanced at the top papers on his pile, but found nothing interesting.
"She owned a condo in Chicago, but besides that and her personal possessions, her estate is mainly cash and, of course, her life insurance policy."
"How much do you figure the total inheritance will come to?" Skye picked up a pencil from the desktop and twirled it between her palms.
He flipped open a file. "Because she was a TV star, she had an unusually large life insurance policy. It's worth a million dollars by itself. Add the condo and the cash and I'd say we're talking in the neighborhood of one point five million dollars."
"That's a pretty nice neighborhood for Charlie to move into," Skye said thoughtfully. "Of course, a move into such a nice neighborhood usually comes with a pretty high price tag."
In this case the price had been a young woman's life.
CHAPTER 11
Somewhere in the Night
That afternoon when Skye got home from the police station, her mother's car was in the driveway and she was washing the front windows of the house. With the temperature continuing to hover in the nineties, May's face was an alarming shade of red, and sweat was dripping from the tip of her nose.
Skye turned her key in the locked door and entered the centrally air-conditioned cottage. She held the door open and looked questioningly at her mother. May gave the window one more swipe, picked up her bottle of Windex, and went inside.
Skye headed for her bedroom. "So, Mom, is the president of the United States coming to visit, or did you just have an uncontrollable urge to give yourself heatstroke?"
May didn't respond to Skye's sarcasm. Instead she stood in the doorway to Skye's bedroom and watched her change into blue chambray shorts and a plain white T-shirt. Slipping on a pair of white sandals, Skye walked past her mother into the great room and sat down in a camp chair.
"You really need to get some more furniture. Where would your dad sit if he was here?" May looked at the other camp chair with distaste.
Skye was not about to be distracted. "So, you came to furnish my house as well as to clean it. Fine. Don't forget to scrub the grout around the tub, and I'd like a Queen Anne-style desk set."
Rubbing the wooden arm of the chair with her rag, May paused before sitting. "Vince needs your help."
"Oh." Skye recognized a trap when she heard one. "Has he said he wants it, or is this all your idea? I got him a good lawyer, and I know he's not back in jail. I was just at the police station."
May looked up sharply. "What were you doing there?"
<
br /> "Officer Quirk needed some information on one of the high school students, so I stopped after work to give it to him. Why shouldn't I be there?"
"You were always sweet on Wally, but he's out to put your brother in jail."
"He didn't seem to be on a vendetta when I spoke to him a few minutes ago. I'm sure they're looking into other suspects too, like people she knew in Chicago."
"Aha, you just talked to him. I thought you said you went to talk to Roy Quirk." May stood up and attacked the inside windows.
Skye handed her mother the bottle of Windex. "I did go to talk to Officer Quirk, but he was with the chief, and so I talked to them both."
"When I was dispatching last night I looked through the Honey Adair file, and Vince is their only suspect. They aren't looking at anyone else."
"How did you get a chance to see that file? Don't they keep stuff like that locked up?"
May smiled. "I've changed a lot since I've been working at the P.D. The locks on the file cabinets are a piece of cake."
"Then what do you need me for?" Skye asked, unnerved to discover her mother had a dark, criminal side.
"You need to find out who really killed her. People talk to you. At least they should after what we paid to send you to college."
Skye narrowed her eyes as she studied her mother.
"Have you been watching Murder, She Wrote again? In real life the police solve crimes, amateurs don't."
"The police think they've already solved the case. They're too busy gathering evidence against Vince to look at anyone else. We can't afford a private detective, even if I knew where to find one. As a psychologist, you know how to make people talk and you can tell if they're lying. Plus, I can help by getting police information. I know how to use the computer at work to find out lots of stuff." May moved over to the wall mirror and began wiping vigorously.
Skye considered what her mother had said. I'm amazed the way people assume that because 1 have a degree in psychology, I also have magical powers. Would I be back in Scumble River if I were that good? She closed her eyes and sighed. On the other hand, Mom has a point. If the police aren 't looking for anyone else and Vince remains their prime suspect, something has to be done. Why do I have this sinking feeling that I'm about to get into trouble again?
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