Murder of a Creped Suzette srm-14

by Denise Swanson

  Crossing her fingers, Skye headed to the garage, murmuring under her breath, “Be there, be there, please be there.”

  Both overhead doors were down, which was not a good sign, but Skye forced herself to remain optimistic as she walked over to the pedestrian entrance and opened it. Inside, one space was empty, clearly where Trixie parked her Honda Civic, but the other half was occupied by a dusty black pickup.

  If Owen’s truck was here, where was he? As Skye pondered that question, something nibbled at the back of her mind.

  Good gravy! Owen’s pickup looked just like the one that had dropped off Suzette at the trailer Saturday night. No. Skye shook her head and scolded herself. Don’t go there. A lot of men drive dusty black trucks. Surely Suzette’s date hadn’t been Owen.

  CHAPTER 10

  “Act Naturally”

  Even if Skye had been willing to risk cat-canine combat and doggy destruction, it was too late to take Toby back home. The clock was ticking, and she had run out of options. Toby would have to go to school with her.

  Yeah. Like that would work out well.

  Sheesh! If she had known this would turn into Bring Your Pet to Work Day, she’d have left the dog at home and brought Bingo. He slept twenty-three out of twenty-four hours, used a litter box rather than the great outdoors, and rarely made a sound.

  As she drove, Skye tried to look on the bright side. At least the junior high’s weekly Pupil Personnel Services meeting had been postponed until Wednesday, and she could spend the entire day in one building. So, taking into account a midday potty break, she’d have to smuggle Toby in and out only twice.

  Another plus was that the high school had several classrooms with doors that opened directly to the lawn. Now all Skye needed was to find a teacher with one of those rooms who would be willing to look the other way when Toby needed to be walked.

  Skye was still mentally scrolling through the staff roster when she pulled into the parking lot. She chose an isolated space partially blocked from view by a storage shed, and tried to figure out a way to sneak Toby into her office.

  Taking an inventory of what she had to work with, she remembered the large computer paper carton that she’d stowed in the Chevy earlier that morning. It currently contained dog food, two bowls, and a chew toy, but there was plenty of room for the little dog. If Toby would keep quiet, that would be his magic carpet into the high school.

  She used a pen to poke a few air holes in the side of the box, then scanned the nearby area for witnesses. There was no one around. Quickly scooping up Toby, she tucked him inside the carton and moved the rawhide bone into his sight. He immediately curled up and started gnawing.

  Before putting on the lid, Skye instructed, “Okay, boy. No barking.”

  Clutching her key ring, she slid her tote bag onto her shoulder and hefted the box into her arms. As she strode toward the school’s entrance, she concentrated on keeping her expression nonchalant. It was fairly common for her to carry around cartons and test kits, which meant that if Toby kept his little white muzzle shut, no one would look twice.

  Skye was in luck. It was a few minutes before the kids would be allowed inside, so the halls were relatively empty. At one point she saw the principal marching toward her and her stomach clenched, but he was engrossed in haranguing the custodian about dented trash cans and didn’t acknowledge Skye’s presence.

  Almost there. Skye put the box on the floor in front of her office and inserted her key. Just as she opened the door, a group of teachers walked by, talking loudly, and Toby shoved the lid from the carton, poked his head over the side, and looked around. His eyes were bright with interest and his pink tongue lolled out of his mouth.

  Skye quickly thrust the box inside the room, slammed the door, and waited. Had they seen Toby? After a few moments, when no one came around asking about the little dog, she collapsed on her chair.

  Phew! That had been too close. It was only seven thirty-five and already her heart was racing and her pulse was pounding. How would she pull this off for another eight hours?

  While Toby acquainted himself with every nook, cranny, and object in the room, Skye’s mind galloped. Since she now had the morning free, she could stay in her office writing reports, but she had counseling sessions scheduled for the afternoon. Where could she stash the little dog while she saw students?

  There weren’t many staff members Skye could count as real friends. For the most part, it was easier to maintain impartiality and confidentiality if she kept somewhat distant from most of the faculty.

  Past circumstance had thrown her and Alana Lowe together, and they had formed a bond, but the art teacher was too emotionally fragile to handle this sort of favor. That left Trixie.

  Hmm. As the school librarian, Trixie had greater freedom than almost anyone else. She also had a workroom that she could lock. And since the three afternoon periods totaled only two hours, surely Toby wouldn’t need to relieve himself during that time.

  The little dog had found an old sweater Skye kept around for days when the furnace went out and had managed to wrestle it from the coatrack onto the floor. He was currently nestled in its folds, chomping on his bone. This was an ideal time to go talk to Trixie.

  School had started a quarter of an hour earlier, and the students were finishing homeroom—twenty minutes in which attendance was taken, announcements were made, and a good-citizen lesson was taught. Apparently today’s session was about organization, because Trixie had an image of the official assignment notebook on the overhead screen and was demonstrating how to keep track of homework due dates.

  From where Skye lingered in the back of the multimedia center, she noticed that few of the kids seemed impressed with the multicolor pencil method. Most sat with their books in their arms on the edge of their seats, and when the bell rang, they bolted for the exit.

  Trixie was gathering up debris when she spotted Skye weaving her way through the departing teens, and called out, “Hey, girlfriend. I was going to go look for you as soon as I had a break.”

  “You want to hear about the body,” Skye guessed, knowing that rumors must be flying fast and furious around town.

  “What else?” Trixie drew Skye into her tiny office and shut the door. “Spill.”

  While Skye described yesterday’s experience, Trixie unwrapped a package of miniature donuts. She offered Skye one of the quartet, then bit into her own, moaning, “Oh, my goodness. These are sooo good.”

  While Skye had been off the diet roller coaster for the past five years, she still tried to eat healthfully and to exercise. So despite having missed breakfast, she resisted the donuts and stifled the urge to smack her friend. It wasn’t Trixie’s fault that she could consume her own weight in sugar and never add an inch to her size 4 figure, while Skye could gain five pounds watching the Food Channel.

  Once both Trixie’s appetite for sweets and her curiosity about the murder were sated, Skye said, “I need a favor.”

  “Sure.” Trixie popped the last bite into her mouth. “What?”

  Skye explained about Toby, then said, “So, can you keep him in the storage room this afternoon?”

  “No problem.” Trixie pressed the powdered sugar from inside the cardboard tray into a tiny ball and licked it from her fingers. “I can take him from after lunch until the end of the day.” She crumbled the cellophane. “Normally, I’d go home on my break and drop the dog off with Owen, but he’s going to some estate sale with your dad today.”

  “Too bad.” Skye had deliberately omitted her search for Owen, since she’d been afraid Owen was AWOL again. “That would have been a great solution.”

  “Yeah.”

  As the two women got up, Skye asked, “Did Owen ever say where he was Saturday when you were looking for him?” She hadn’t had a chance to talk to Trixie either Sunday or Monday, and now the coincidence of the black truck along with Owen being MIA the same afternoon that Suzette was missing troubled Skye.

  “Sort of.” Trixie’s smile dimmed. �
��He said he ran into an old friend after his business meeting and they went into Joliet for a drink.” She led the way into the library. “I told him I didn’t care if he went out with friends. All I wanted was for him to call and tell me.”

  “That’s a reasonable request.”

  “He promised to let me know next time.”

  “Good.” Skye waved good-bye, walking away before Trixie could see the worry on her face. Could Owen’s old friend have been Suzette?

  During the last of the two lunch periods, Skye checked the teachers’ lounge to see who was there, and thus whose classroom would be unoccupied. When she spotted Alana, Skye hurried back to her office, put Toby into the computer paper box, and snuck him over to the art room and out its exterior door.

  While the little dog was doing his business, Skye’s thoughts went back to Owen’s truck. Had it been the one she saw? Concentrating, she tried to recall some detail that would distinguish his dusty black pickup from the one Suzette had arrived in. She knew she had seen something, but couldn’t remember what. Deep in thought, she failed to notice that the marching band had assembled across the lawn from her—at least she didn’t notice them until the loud bleat of a tuba startled her from her contemplation.

  At the sound of the first note, Toby stiffened. His head whipped toward the assembled musicians, and with his ears twitching, he barked furiously and lunged in their direction. The leash jerked in Skye’s hand and she felt something pop in her shoulder.

  Despite the pain, Skye hung on tight. She reeled in the eighteen-pound dog like a trout on the end of a fishing pole, scooped him up, and dashed inside. Panting, she plastered herself against the side of the wall and hoped no one had seen Toby. Or if they did, that they wouldn’t bother to find out why there was a dog taking a whiz on the school’s memorial crab apple tree.

  As she closed the door, Skye heard the band director shout, “Britney, quit trying to be the center of attention. Everyone can see there’s no animal over there. Just be quiet and play your flute.”

  After the near miss, Skye was relieved to deposit Toby with Trixie and to see her first counseling client—even if it was Ian Gooding, a precocious twelve-year-old freshman whom Skye had argued against double promoting last year due to the socialization issues she knew would arise.

  Her suggestion—that Ian remain with his age group but that his curriculum be adjusted to meet his unique needs—had been rejected by the superintendent on the grounds that it would cost too much money. Since he had an IQ of over 165, his parents understandably wanted their son to be academically challenged, and they’d demanded that he skip seventh and eighth grades and go directly to high school.

  Within a week Skye had been asked to see him for counseling. He had no friends and alienated nearly everyone with whom he interacted. This was their third session, and she wondered what test she would have to pass this time before he would talk to her.

  In their first meeting, Skye had had to beat him at chess—thank goodness Simon had taught her well. The second time, he brought a Sudoku for her to complete. Today she was hoping for a crossword puzzle, but he surprised her by actually wanting to discuss an incident he’d been involved in on the school bus.

  Skye suspected his progress had more to do with a new girl who had moved in last week than with her skill as a therapist, but she would take improvement however it occurred.

  After a lengthy explanation, Ian finally got to his real question. “What I want to know, Ms. Denison, is how I should act so that Christy will like me.”

  “Just be yourself.” Skye smiled reassuringly at the preteen. “But maybe just a little less judgmental of other people’s limitations.”

  “Even the really stupid ones?”

  “Especially those who are less fortunate than you.” Skye made sure she had eye contact. “Everyone has a place in this world. You just need to find yours.”

  “But I’m a geek.” He ducked his head and mumbled, “Christy will never like the real me.”

  “She might.” Skye knew that the young lady he was referring to was also gifted—not that she could share that information with Ian. Instead she said, “The people who matter won’t mind if you’re yourself, and the people who do mind don’t matter.”

  Ian’s expression was skeptical, but as he left Skye’s office he promised to think about what she’d said.

  In comparison to Ian, the next two students were easy; both were cooperative and working hard on their counseling goals. Skye sent the last one back to his classroom a few minutes before the bell rang, then headed toward the library to retrieve Toby.

  Congratulating herself on having concealed the little dog’s presence for an entire day, she didn’t notice Homer Knapik until his hairy hand descended on her shoulder. The principal’s lumbering movements, protruding belly, and the graying hair that grew on nearly every visible part of his body made him look like Hollywood’s concept of the abominable snowman.

  Instead of greeting her, Homer grumbled, “Why didn’t you answer your phone? I’ve been calling you for the past hour.”

  “I put it on voice mail when I’m with students,” Skye reminded him, perhaps for the fiftieth time. “Did you leave a message?”

  “Message, smessage,” Homer groused. “Come on or we’ll never get this meeting over with.”

  “What meeting?” If she had to explain with one word why the human race would never achieve its full potential, meeting would be that word.

  “The one you’re making us late for.” Homer thrust his head at her.

  Skye stepped out of bad-breath range. “What’s it about?”

  “Mrs. Gooding wants to talk about that little brainiac of hers.”

  “Now?” Skye’s heart sank. She couldn’t stay late today. She had to rescue Toby and get to the police station. “If it’s not an emergency, she should make an appointment like everyone else.”

  “Everyone else isn’t on the school board.” Homer grabbed Skye’s elbow and shoved her forward. “After five years in public education, you don’t still believe that everyone gets treated equally, do you?”

  Skye ignored his cynicism. “Where are we going?” she asked, cringing because she already knew the answer. There was only one place in this direction where they sometimes held conferences.

  “The library.”

  Of course. Where else? Skye tried to hang back, but Homer kept pulling.

  When they arrived, Skye was relieved to see that Trixie had seated Mrs. Gooding as far as possible from the storage room where Toby was currently ensconced. As Skye and Homer were sitting down, the final bell rang, and a few minutes later Ian’s teachers began to assemble.

  Once everyone was present, Homer said, “Mrs. Gooding, what is it you’d like to discuss?”

  “First—” A series of sneezes interrupted her. Once she found a tissue, blew her nose, and accepted a round of God bless yous, she continued. “I’d like to thank you all for your hard work with Ian. He hasn’t complained about being bored once yet.” She paused, sneezing twice more, then said, “But he has expressed an interest in dropping physical education and taking a real class in its place.”

  “Well.” Homer stroked a tuft of hair that poked between the buttons of his shirt. “The problem with that is he needs PE credits to graduate.”

  “But—” Mrs. Gooding broke off, overcome by a bout of sneezing. Once she had wiped her nose, she said, “Sorry. I can’t think what’s making me sneeze. The only thing I’m allergic to is dogs.”

  Skye stole a quick glance at the storage room. A white paw was sticking out from under the door. “It’s probably mold,” she suggested. “This is an old building after all.” She had to get this meeting over with ASAP. “Maybe we should move somewhere else.”

  Homer glared at Skye. “I’m sure we’re almost done. Right, Mrs. Gooding?”

  “Yes.” Mrs. Gooding dabbed at her watering eyes with a Kleenex. “I just wanted to speak to the math teacher about the note you sent me yesterday.”
/>   “The one about Ian’s assignments?” the math teacher asked.

  “Uh-huh.” Mrs. Gooding nodded. “I checked with him, and he said that his homework is not missing; it’s just having an out-of-notebook experience.”

  Skye looked to see if Mrs. Gooding was joking, but her expression was completely serious.

  “Fine.” The math teacher didn’t blink. “Please tell Ian that his homework better rematerialize by tomorrow or he’s getting a zero.”

  “Anything else?” Homer interjected before Mrs. Gooding could respond.

  “Yes.” Mrs. Gooding turned to Skye. “How is Ian’s counseling going?”

  “Slow but sure.” Skye’s tone was encouraging. “He’s starting to talk more.”

  “About?”

  “I can’t discuss specifics.” Skye shifted in her chair. “Remember, I told you about confidentiality when you signed the permission slip?”

  “Good.” Homer shoved back his chair. “Then if there’s nothing else . . . ?”

  “One more thing.”

  While Mrs. Gooding paused for another sneeze, Skye watched in horror as one of Trixie’s student helpers walked up to the storage room, inserted her key, and opened the door. Toby erupted from the confined space like Silly String from a can.

  Skye took off after him, but he eluded her every attempt to corral him. She and the dog did a few laps around the library. Books flew off the shelves as Skye tried to right herself while she skidded around corners. Toby took the same hairpin turns with ease. He looked back every once in a while to see if Skye was keeping up with him, but the moment she got near enough to grab him, he danced away, yipping excitedly.

  Finally he grew bored with the game, abruptly changed direction, and zipped over to where everyone in the meeting was sitting. Before Skye could reach him, he ran up to Homer, raised his leg, and peed on the principal’s shiny black shoes.

  Toby’s antics put a quick halt to the conference. Homer barely waited until everyone had fled before he laid into Skye. His tirade eventually wound down, ending with, “And I want a new pair of these exact same shoes on my desk by tomorrow morning or you’re fired.”