“She didn’t tell me what it is, so I have no idea.” Skye had found that the junior high principal usually had her own agenda, and trying to change it in any way was not a good idea.
“That still gives us three hours,” Jackie chimed in. “We can get half done.”
Homer’s face turned the color of a boiled lobster, and he waved his hands in the air as if they were claws fighting off a diner intent on devouring his tail. “You two will stay until you’ve talked to every last delinquent on your list.”
“Let’s call Neva.” Skye stepped around Homer and picked up the phone on his desk. “Maybe she’ll postpone the meeting until Wednesday.”
“No.” Homer cursed softly under his breath. “If you think it’s that important, go, but come back here as soon as that meeting is finished.”
“Definitely.” Jackie beamed at him. “I’ll bring sandwiches so we can eat at the PPS meeting and not have to stop for lunch. We can probably be back here by one, and I’m sure we can finish by three.”
“I doubt it.” Skye knew better than to promise Homer what she couldn’t deliver.
“Oh, come on, Skye,” Jackie admonished. “Stop being so negative. We can do it if we really try.”
Skye gritted her teeth. Jackie was seriously annoying her. Skye had tried to be friendly to the woman, but it was time for an alternate approach—avoidance. From now on, unless they had to both attend the same meeting, Skye resolved to steer clear of Jackie. Whenever Jackie was in their shared office, Skye would go somewhere else.
The junior high’s art room smelled of turpentine and glue. Scraps of construction paper were scattered on the faded blue linoleum. The windows rattled as gusts of wind buffeted them, and cold air seeped around the frames, causing the student drawings thumbtacked to the bulletin board to rustle.
Principal Neva Llewellyn sat at the teacher’s desk. The other members of the Pupil Personal Services team sat at small tables for two arranged in an arc facing her. When Skye entered the room, no one was speaking.
Skye slid into an empty seat beside Madeline Weller, the special-education teacher. Ever since Wally’s ex-wife, the former special-ed teacher, had left town, they’d had a new one every school year. For some reason—perhaps the low salary, poor working conditions, or lack of respect—it was hard to keep good educators in Scumble River.
Madeline was fresh out of college, slender and petite. She looked about thirteen, and Skye had been meaning to ask how she was doing. Her caseload consisted of students with behavior disorders and learning disabilities, and most of them were boys.
Neva shot Skye an annoyed look and said, “Now that we’re finally all here, let’s begin.”
Skye checked the wall clock; she was fifteen minutes early, which would have usually ensured her being the first to arrive. What was going on?
Neva nodded to the special-ed teacher and said, “Ms. Weller, please tell the team what you reported to me yesterday morning.”
In a soft voice, the teacher said, “I coach the eighth-grade pom-pom squad.” She cleared her throat. “Yesterday the girls were all excited.”
Skye watched Neva’s expression darken and wondered what was coming.
“They wouldn’t tell me what was going on.” Madeline’s face clouded. “I knew it must be something big, because they were all giggly. So, I, uh . . .” Madeline’s cheeks reddened. “I eavesdropped.”
Jackie asked, “What did you hear?”
“A group of five girls has decided to get pregnant.” Madeline’s big blue eyes rounded in dismay. “They said they’d seen a Web site that said how cool it was to all have babies at the same time and raise them together.”
“Did you call their parents?” Skye asked Neva. Surely the principal hadn’t waited for this meeting before taking action.
“Of course,” Neva snapped. “But several of the mothers and fathers weren’t certain how to handle the situation. It’s not as if they can put the girls in chastity belts or force contraceptives down their throats.”
“Do you want me to talk to the girls?” Skye offered.
Before the principal could answer, Jackie waved her hand in the air. “Not to step on any toes”—she smiled at Skye—“but I should be the one to talk to them.”
“Why?” Neva looked at Jackie.
“Well, no offense, Skye, but social workers are better trained in counseling. Most school psychologists just test and consult.”
“That isn’t true, Jackie, at least in my school psych program.” Skye kept her expression neutral. “But if you’d like to handle this situation, I’ll step aside and concentrate on the high school’s problem.”
Neva sat back in her chair and frowned at Skye. “Shouldn’t I be the one to decide that?”
“Right.” Skye backpedaled quickly. “I meant I’d do whatever the team thinks is best.”
“Since it’s obvious Jackie is eager for the job”—Neva crossed her arms—“and this isn’t Skye’s top priority, I’d prefer Jackie to handle it.”
Skye feared her head was going to explode. Homer thought his chemical bombs should be number one on her list. Neva thought her wannabe mommies should be. Skye couldn’t wait to hear what the grade school principal considered to be her main concern.
“I’ll get right on it.” Jackie beamed.
Skye’s patience was wearing thin. “You told Homer we’d be back at the high school this afternoon to finish up the interviews there.”
“I thought you said you were going to handle that.” Jackie tossed her hair. “Since I’m needed here.”
“I meant I’d take the lead.” Skye’s stomach clenched. “But if you don’t do any of the interviews, it will take twice as long and Homer won’t be happy.”
“It seems fair to me.” Neva’s forehead wrinkled. “Homer can’t expect to monopolize both of you.” She pushed back her chair. “Jackie, after you finish with the girls, brief me before you leave.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Thank you, everyone.” Neva stood, indicating the meeting was over. “See you next week.” She put her hand on Skye’s arm as she attempted to leave. “I need a word with you before you go.”
Skye nodded, stepped aside, and waited.
Once everyone had left, Neva shut the door and said, “I’m very disappointed in you, Skye.”
Her pulse quickened. Shit! She had worked hard to gain the principal’s trust. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“I expected you to be the one eager to talk to those girls. Instead, you’re late to the meeting and then act as if our problem isn’t as important as the high school’s.”
“I certainly didn’t mean to imply that.” Skye fought the urge to cry. “It’s just that Jackie and I already promised Homer our time.”
“I understand your concern, but I don’t think that’s the real reason.”
“It is.” Skye was confused. “Really.”
“Maybe you think it is, but unconsciously, I think you’re a little jealous of Jackie.” Neva tilted her head. “Before she was hired, you were the one everyone turned to for assistance. Could it be that you perceive she’s taking your place and you resent it?”
“No.” Skye disputed Neva’s theory. “I’m glad for the help.” But was she? Skye pushed that doubt away.
“Fine.” Neva shrugged her shoulders. “Now, about your being late. You know I don’t tolerate tardiness.”
“I wasn’t. I was here at quarter after for our eleven-thirty meeting.”
Neva raised an eyebrow. “But the meeting was rescheduled for eleven, at your request.”
Skye stood frozen, stunned by Neva’s words. Was she losing her mind, or was someone out to get her? “I most certainly did not reschedule the meeting.”
“What do you mean, there are still eighteen kids you haven’t seen?” Homer grabbed the edge of his desk and glared at Skye, seated opposite him.
Tuesday’s dismissal bell had rung ten minutes ago, and Skye was in Homer’s office giving him a rundown on
what she had discovered—which was nothing. None of the students she’d interviewed seemed to have any knowledge of the chemical bombs or their creator.
“I told you this morning we couldn’t possibly see them all today, and since Jackie stayed at the junior high after PPS to deal with the situation there, I could only see eight kids this afternoon.”
“Are you blaming Jackie? She called me and said that you insisted she stay there, that you could handle the interviews here.” A scowl twisted Homer’s heavy features. “I expect you to be finished and to have found the culprit by noon tomorrow.” He spoke sharply. “Am I making myself perfectly clear?”
“If Jackie’s back to help, that shouldn’t be a problem.”
Homer’s response was an animal-like grunt. He picked up the phone and started dialing, dismissing her with a wave of his stubby fingers.
Skye headed back to her office to work on a report that was due the next day, but she was happy to see Trixie leaning against the wall near her door when she arrived. Reports could be written at home, and her friend was always good for a laugh.
Trixie handed Skye a Diet Coke and said, “Wait until you hear what I saw at the grocery store yesterday.”
“What?” Skye felt a spark of anticipation. Trixie was a great storyteller.
“I was in the produce aisle getting some fruit for this week’s lunches, and I saw Dr. Paine over by the deli counter.”
“His wife dies on Friday and he’s buying salami on Monday?” Skye tsked.
“If you think that’s bad, wait until you hear the rest of it.” Trixie plopped into the chair facing Skye’s desk. “So, I start to walk over to him to tell him how sorry I am about Annette, but another woman gets to him first.”
Skye settled into her seat. “Who was it?”
“I thought she looked familiar, but couldn’t remember why. Anyway, she said hello to him, and he said, ‘Do I know you?’ ”
Skye popped the top of her soda can and nodded for Trixie to continue.
“The woman said to him, ‘You’re the father of one of my kids.’ ”
“Holy smokes!” Skye’s eyes widened.
“You haven’t heard the half of it.” Trixie’s brown eyes twinkled with amusement. “He stared at the woman for a second or two, then said, ‘Oh, my God! Are you the stripper from that club near O’Hare? The one that I banged on the couch during my buddy’s stag party?’ ”
Skye had just taken a drink of soda and it spewed across her desktop as she whooped. After catching her breath and mopping up the mess, she asked, “What did the woman say?”
“She said, ‘No. I’m your daughter Mallory’s fifth-grade teacher.’ ”
They both laughed until tears ran down their cheeks; then Skye’s face sobered, and she said, “I forgot all about Annette’s other daughter. I wonder if I should go over to the grade school tomorrow. Homer wouldn’t let me see if any of Linnea’s friends wanted to talk about Annette’s death, but maybe Caroline would want me to talk to Mallory’s classmates.”
“Wouldn’t she have called you if she thought she needed you?” Trixie asked. When Skye nodded, Trixie added, “Besides, I heard you already have your hands full with the chemical bombs here and the wannabe mommies at the junior high. What’s up with that?”
Skye filled her in, concluding with, “Then Neva said I had phoned and left a message requesting that the meeting be moved from eleven thirty to eleven.”
“How weird.” Trixie took a sip of her Dr Pepper. “Maybe the secretary misunderstood whoever called.”
“That must be it.” Skye opened the bottom drawer of her desk and grabbed the package of cookies. Her stomach was growling. Jackie had failed to bring the promised sandwiches to the PPS meeting, and Skye hadn’t had anything to eat since seven a.m.
“Do you think Neva believed you?”
“She said she did, but she’s a hard one to read.” Skye offered the Oreos to Trixie.
“No, thanks.” Trixie reached into the jar on Skye’s desk and pulled out a piece of Halloween candy. “Sounds like Jackie is really diving right into things around here. She must be a big help to you.”
“Yeah, she’s Johnny-on-the-spot.” Skye muttered, twisting the Oreo apart. “Too much so. Let’s talk about something else.” Skye took a lick of the cream center. “Ick. I think these cookies have gone bad.”
“Throw them away.” Trixie peeled the wrapper from a tiny Milky Way. “What did Vince want to talk to you about?”
“Right. We haven’t spoken since Saturday.” Skye tried another Oreo, this time taking a bite of the intact cookie. They seemed okay as long as she ate them whole. “As I feared, Vince’s news was bad.”
“He dumped Loretta?”
“Other way around.”
“No!” Trixie’s eyes widened. “That’s got to be a first. Why?”
“She gave him the old ‘we’re too different’ speech, but I suspect there’s more to it. I need to call her and find out.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t.” Trixie’s expression was doubtful. “You don’t want to ruin your friendship.”
“You could be right.”
After a long pause, Trixie said, “What’s happening with the murder?”
“I overheard some info at church I’ll follow up on. Your story about what Dr. Paine said in the grocery store pretty much confirms what they were saying about him.” Skye filled Trixie in on the gossip about the dentist and about Evie Harrison, ending with, “And I was nearly run over by a car after Mass.”
“Oh, my God. Were you all right?” Trixie gasped.
“Just a scraped knee and palm,” Skye reassured her friend. “Kurt Michaels pushed me out of the way. Quirk blew the whole incident off.”
“What a jerk.” Trixie looked worried. “We need to find out if Annette was really the intended victim. Any ideas on how we can do that?”
“Kurt and I discussed it, and he’s going to help.” Skye gave Trixie a summary of her conversation with the reporter, finishing with, “So, he’s going to check Nina Miles out—see if she tells him anything she didn’t share with us—and I’ll talk to Evie. We’ll both look into Annette.” Hope had made Skye promise not to tell anyone about her history or Quirk’s threat, so she couldn’t share that info with Trixie.
“Don’t you think it’s odd that Kurt’s around whenever something happens?”
“Not really. He’s just doing his job.” Skye hadn’t mentioned his flirting. She pushed aside the memory of his almost kissing her, and told herself the reason for keeping it from Trixie was that he was only teasing. “Besides, with the police department not giving me any information, I need his help.”
Trixie raised an eyebrow, but didn’t pursue the matter. “What do you want me to do?”
“Evie and Nina have daughters at the high school, and Hope has a son. Maybe you could chat with them. Kids usually know more than their parents think they do, and you could run into them more casually than I can.”
“Okay.” Trixie stood. “I’ll let you know if the kids have anything interesting to say.”
After Trixie left, Skye ate the last cookie in the package and threw the cellophane away. Happily, she had purchased Oreos at the grocery store Sunday after church, and thus there was a new package in the bottom of her drawer for the next day. It had gotten so that she couldn’t get through the afternoon without her cookie fix.
As Skye carefully wiped the crumbs from the top of her desk, and made sure none had fallen to the floor—Homer would kill her if she attracted ants—she thought about how she could approach Dylan Paine. She needed to find out if the dental Don Juan had murdered his wife.
How do you get to see a dentist? By developing a toothache. A few seconds later, Skye had Dr. Paine’s receptionist on the phone, and was reassuring the woman that although her tooth was throbbing, and Dr. Paine wasn’t reopening his office until the day after tomorrow, she didn’t want a referral to another dentist. The woman reluctantly said that Dr. Paine could see Skye at four p.m
. on Thursday.
Skye wrote the appointment on her calendar, picked up her purse, and stood. As she got to her feet, she felt dizzy and a little nauseated. The half dozen cookies she had eaten on an empty stomach must not have agreed with her.
Skye resolved to go straight home and rest—as soon as she made two stops. First she’d go to Evie’s house to ask her what Annette was holding over her head, then to Aunt Minnie’s to make sure the correct version of Wally’s absence was circulating on the grapevine. When they’d talked Sunday night, she’d gotten Wally’s okay to reveal the info about his reason for being out of town, but Skye hadn’t had a chance to visit her aunt until now.
Evie lived in a beautiful old Victorian next to her husband’s church. A fifty-something man in a clerical collar answered Skye’s knock. “Yes?”
“Hello, Reverend.” Skye smiled at the handsome minister. “May I speak to Evie, please?”
“I’m sorry—she’s not receiving visitors today.” He tried to shut the door.
Skye put her foot in his way.“Could you tell her it’s Skye Denison, about Promfest?”
“I’ll tell her you stopped by.” His icy blue eyes dared her to cause a scene. “But she’s resting now, and I won’t disturb her.”
Skye refused to be intimidated. “Will you give her a note from me?”
He inclined his head, and Skye noticed that his thick white hair didn’t move. She hurriedly grabbed a legal pad from her tote, then searched its depths for a pen. Reverend Harrison sighed and handed her the one from his shirt pocket.
Skye admired the sleek Mont Blanc as she wrote:
Dear Evie,
I need to talk to you ASAP. Call me by tomorrow or I’m dropping out of the haunted house.
Skye Denison
As soon as she handed Reverend Harrison the folded page, he shut the door in her face. It sure seemed as if Evie was avoiding Skye. What did the woman have to hide?
CHAPTER 18
Something in the Air
Aringing phone woke Skye from a disturbed sleep. She still hadn’t felt well when she got home from her aunt’s, and had stretched out on the love seat in the sunroom trying to get her head to stop spinning. She must have dozed off, because according to the clock on the VCR it was now eight p.m.
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