Kallista moved out of the shadows, took in the situation, and fluttered her lashes at Wally. “Why, Sheriff, I almost didn’t recognize you out of uniform. I mean, in regular clothes.” She giggled. “Although I bet you’d look mighty fine out of them, too.”
“It’s ‘Chief,’ ma’am.” Wally tipped an imaginary hat. “But thank you.”
“What can I do for you, Chief?” Kallista moistened her glossy pink lips.
“Well, I was hoping you’d have a few minutes to talk with me.”
“I surely do, Chief.” Kallista wiggled past Skye, entwined her arm with Wally’s, and drew him inside. “Can I get you a beer?”
“No, but don’t let me stop you.” Wally beckoned for Skye to join them.
Skye obliged, noting that the door opened directly into the living room. She chose a straight chair that was nearly hidden behind a red-lacquered three-panel screen stenciled with black dragons.
Kallista tugged Wally to a black leather sofa and playfully pushed him onto the cushions, joining him after fetching a Corona for herself. She continued to act as if Skye were invisible, petting Wally’s biceps with one hand and slugging back the beer with the other.
Skye gritted her teeth, but remained quiet. While Kallista manhandled Wally, Skye glanced around the Airstream’s interior. It was much roomier than she had expected, and all the furniture looked expensive.
Kallista gave a high-pitched laugh, and Skye focused back on the woman pawing her fiancé. The blonde was running her tongue along the neck of the beer bottle while caressing the bottom half.
While Kallista flirted, Wally went over the same questions with her that he had with Flint. What were her activities on Monday afternoon and where had she been at the time of the murder?
And like Flint’s, Kallista’s answers matched her previous ones. She had spent Monday afternoon in Joliet and was at the movies at the time of the murder.
“Did you ever find that ticket stub we talked about?” Wally asked.
“No.” Kallista shook her head. “I probably threw it away.”
“If we show your picture, would the theater employees remember you?” Wally persisted. “Maybe the ones at the candy counter.”
“Do I look like I eat candy?” Kallista ran her hands down her flat stomach. “I save my calories for this.” She held up the Corona.
“Good choice.” Wally smiled, then said, “Pardon me for asking, but when we got here it sounded as if you were having some marriage trouble. Isn’t Mr. Taylor a good husband?”
“He could be.” Kallista finished off her beer. “But he stinks at doing impressions.”
“I see.” Wally laughed politely. “What was your relationship with Suzette like?”
“She was my husband’s gofer. We didn’t have a relationship.” The blonde hiccupped. “She did what she was told and that was that.”
“I understand she kept to herself, but was there anyone she was close to?”
Kallista narrowed her unbelievably violet eyes. “You mean besides my husband?”
“She and Mr. Taylor were friendly?” Wally encouraged the woman to continue. “In what way?”
“She wanted him to make her a star and he wanted into her pants.”
“Do you believe what Kallista said about Rex wanting to sleep with Suzette?” Skye asked the minute she and Wally were back in the car. “Or that Suzette might have had sex with him to get ahead?”
“No one but Kallista has suggested anything like that regarding Suzette.” Wally put the T-bird in gear. “But I think Taylor’s the kind of guy who tries with every woman he meets.”
“Really tries or just sort of tries?” Skye fastened her seat belt. “I mean, from what little I know about Rex, he does appear to be the type, and I did see him attempt to hug Suzette at the meeting in the mayor’s office last Sunday.”
“He’s like the guys you see in a casino. They put a quarter in nearly every slot machine they walk past. If it hits, great, and if it doesn’t, they go on to the next one.”
“You might be right, because he didn’t appear upset when Suzette shrugged off his arm.”
“Exactly.” Wally made a U-turn and headed out of the park. “Each time I’ve seen Taylor, he’s coming on to one woman or another, but it seems more of a habit than a serious effort.”
“How about Kallista and Flint? Their affair certainly complicates matters.” Skye paused, thinking. “What if Suzette found out about Flint and Kallista’s plans to run away together, and they killed her to stop her from telling Rex?”
“Except for the lovers’ quarrel or rape scenario, that’s the best motive I’ve heard so far.” Wally tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “On the other hand, why would Flint have sex with her first?”
“He’s a jerk?” Skye closed her eyes. “Or Flint was having an affair with both women.” Her lids popped open. “And Kallista discovered them in the act. In a rage, she killed Suzette—whom she considered her competition for both men in her life.”
“I suppose that’s possible, but did she act alone or did James help her?”
“My money’s on Kallista.” Skye wrinkled her nose. “Obviously she didn’t like Suzette.”
“Judging from the way she treated you, I don’t think Kallista likes any other women.” Wally squeezed Skye’s hand. “And by the way, thank you for going along with that whole production.”
“No problem.”
“Because Kallista is just a screen saver, not the real deal like you.”
“Screen saver?” Skye’s expression showed her confusion.
“Yeah.” Wally winked. “She looks good, but she’s useless.”
Skye smiled. “Anyway, I trust you and I appreciate you trusting me when I told you about having Simon take care of Toby.”
“Speaking of Toby, since he’s not an issue, and you stopped and fed Bingo before we went to see Flint, how about spending the night at my place?”
“Well . . . I think that’s a fine idea.” Skye stroked Wally’s thigh. “Especially since there was one thing missing from our picnic.”
“What’s that?”
“Dessert.”
CHAPTER 19
“I Can’t Stop Loving You”
Friday afternoon Skye felt as if her good luck might be back. So far, there had been no emergency parent conferences and no inconvenient student absences. If the next hour went well, she would be able to leave work at quitting time and make her four thirty appointment with Father Burns with time to spare. And since the priest had said he didn’t mind if she brought a dog along to the meeting, she didn’t need to ask Simon to keep Toby for another night.
Glancing at the clock, Skye saw she had fifteen minutes to grab a cup of coffee before she needed to fetch the boys for her group. She locked the file she’d been working on in the cabinet, gathered up the material she needed for the session, and headed for the staff room.
The lounge was located in the back half of the basement, and Skye wound her way through a warren of construction paper rolls hung on huge cylinders, a massive cage containing balls of various sizes, and several racks of cleaning supplies. The scent of dust, sweat, and ammonia mingled in her sinuses, and she sneezed three times in rapid succession.
From somewhere in the labyrinth a male voice yelled, “God bless you!”
“Thank you, Cameron,” Skye shouted back. The young custodian was often heard but not seen.
When Skye pushed open the door to the teachers’ lounge, she saw Yvonne Smith facing a bulletin board at the rear of the empty room. The plump middle-aged woman with a halo of brown and gray curls, half-glasses, and baby blue eyes was the epitome of everyone’s favorite teacher. The fact that she taught special education was a true bonus for children with special needs.
“Hi, Yvonne,” Skye said cheerfully. “How are you this afternoon?”
“Oh, my!” The teacher spun around, clutching her chest. “You startled me.”
“Sorry.” Skye wrinkled her brow. What was up with
Yvonne? She was usually one of the most unflappable teachers Skye dealt with. “Is anything wrong?”
“No.” The older woman’s voice was sheepish. “I’ve just received a strange call.”
“Really?” Skye walked over to the coffee machine, put down the equipment she was carrying, and poured the dark brew into a cup. “What happened?”
“A parent was upset because her eight-year-old came home and told her he’d learned how to make babies in my class yesterday.”
“Okay—I know you aren’t teaching sex ed, especially to third graders.” Skye opened two packs of Sweet’N Low and shook them along with some powdered creamer into her coffee. “So why would her son say that?”
Yvonne shook her head. “Yesterday I taught a lesson on plurals, and told them that to make the word babies from baby you change the y to an i and add es. My question is, why didn’t the mom ask her son what he meant?”
“Because that would have been too easy.” Skye stirred her coffee.
“True,” Yvonne agreed, then added, “I’d better get going.” She strode toward the exit, pausing to say, “I’ll send my aide down with the boys for your group as soon as we finish our after-recess quiet time minutes.”
“I’d appreciate that.” Skye snapped a lid on the cup and gathered up her supplies. “I’ll be waiting for them in the usual spot.”
“You’re more than welcome.” Yvonne smiled. “I’m grateful that you’re seeing them. Those three are a handful. It will be nice to have a little uninterrupted time to devote to the others.” She waved and hurried away.
Skye followed at a slightly slower pace. Not having to fetch the kids from the far end of the building gave her a few extra minutes.
Emerging from the basement stairway, Skye balanced three game boxes, a bag of rewards, and her cup, then hiked down the main hall. Near the office she noticed a handmade poster that read:
The fifth graders will be presenting
Shakespeare’s Macbeth in the gym Friday at 7:30 p.m.
The staff is encouraged to attend this tragedy.
Wondering if whoever made the sign had actually read it before putting it up, Skye giggled to herself as she headed into the elementary school’s oldest section. The smell of mildew hit her full force as she turned into the corridor, making her eyes water.
Previously this wing had been rented out to a church group, but they had found a better facility and moved. Three years later, the school board was still trying to figure out whether to bring it up to code for classroom use or to tear it down and start over.
It was not the best location for a group session—stifling in the spring and fall and freezing in the winter. What’s more, it was isolated and dreary. However, the principal had assured Skye that this was the only space available, and since there was no way she could squeeze three lively eight-year-old boys into her tiny office, she had to make-do. Conditions were rarely ideal when one worked in public education.
Here, at least, she was able to use a room that was the correct size. She had learned the hard way that when dealing with active children, a space that was too big was just as bad as one that was too small. When she had started the group, she had cleared out the pastor’s old office and brought in a low table and four chairs. The walls were bare and there were no windows. Another lesson she had quickly learned was that it was best to have an area without many visual stimulants.
Skye set up the first game—one designed to encourage cooperation—then took a sip of her coffee as she waited for her group to arrive. After a couple of swallows, she became aware of an unsettling silence. Usually schools were full of noise, but she was totally on her own here.
The isolation made her think of Suzette’s mother—supposedly alone in the house, with a three-year-old as the sole witness to her accident. What had really happened to Mrs. Neal all those years ago? And what had happened to her daughter a few days ago? Skye hastily scribbled down thoughts as they occurred to her.
1. Did Mrs. Neal’s death have anything to do with Suzette’s murder?
2. Did Suzette’s brother have anything to do with either death?
3. Why use a steamroller to kill Suzette?
Before she could come up with more questions, her clients burst into the room. The teacher’s aide hurried after them, a harried expression on her face. She nodded at Skye, then turned on her heels and fled.
The boys were definitely unusual. Clifford, the brightest of the three, handed Skye a white square of paper.
She thanked him, unfolded it, and read: The opinions expressed by this child are not necessarily those of his parents. Fighting to keep a straight face, Skye stuffed the paper into her pocket.
Glaring at Skye, Clifford sat down and slammed a thick hardcover Harry Potter into the middle of the game board. Playing pieces scattered everywhere.
Skye silently looked at him until he dropped his gaze; then she checked on the other boys. Alvin, who was tall for his age and built like a mini-linebacker, immediately got down on all fours. He crawled after the tokens, making excited yipping noises.
For an unprofessional moment, Skye wondered why Alvin insisted he was a dog named Spot instead of a singing chipmunk. At least the cartoon Alvin talked; her Alvin communicated only by barking.
The third boy had his back pressed to the door and was waving a can of Lysol in the others’ direction, as if warding off mosquitoes. Duncan—or, as the kids called him, Mr. Clean—liked everything to be perfectly orderly and hygienic. So much so that he had insisted on having his head shaved so no hair would ever be out of place. Skye still couldn’t believe his mother had gone along with that.
Clifford, aka Book Boy, glanced around and smiled contentedly. He retrieved his novel, flipped it open to the bookmarked page, and started to read.
Needless to say, none of the three kids had been able to make any friends, which concerned both their parents and the school staff. At their Individual Education Plan conference last fall, Skye had volunteered to provide a socialization group. This was their second meeting. Clearly she had her work cut out for her.
Reaching over, Skye plucked the book from Clifford’s hands, swiftly put it on her chair, and sat on it. Then, in a mild tone, she said, “Would you all please help collect the pieces so we can begin our game?”
Alvin picked up one of the larger tokens in his mouth, trotted over, and dropped it into Skye’s hands. Duncan gingerly approached a few pieces, sprayed them with Lysol, and brought them to the table. Clifford stared at Skye without moving.
Ignoring the recalcitrant boy, Skye showed the other two boys the rewards they could earn for taking turns, following directions, and speaking in their indoor voices. Once she had their interest, she got them started on the game.
Less than ten minutes had passed when Clifford grabbed a token and put it on the board. Alvin growled and Duncan aimed his Lysol can at the intruder.
“Should we let our friend Clifford join our game?” Skye selected a small rubber ball from her reward bag. “Alvin, do you think Clifford should get a turn?”
The large boy cocked his head, nodded, and said, “Woof.”
Skye gave him the ball. “Good job on taking turns, Alvin.”
“Duncan, do you agree we should let our friend Clifford join us in our game?” Skye held up a miniature container of hand sanitizer.
“Yes, Ms. D.” Duncan reached for the bottle. “I want to take turns, too.”
“Excellent decision.” Skye checked her watch. The group was scheduled to last a half hour, and they still had ten minutes left. She handed the dice to Clifford and said, “Your friends agree it’s your turn.”
The rest of the time went well, and the boys were putting the game pieces away in the box when the same teacher’s aide who had brought the boys to the session eased the door open. “Sorry to disturb you, Ms. Denison, but Mrs. Smith needs you. Two of the older children are having a disagreement about the proposed music theater and she’s afraid it’s about to turn physical.”
Once she had helped the special education teacher with a conflict resolution exercise, Skye picked up her counseling equipment, then headed back to her office. As she walked down the hall, she thought about the similarities between the students’ disagreement and the argument between Ginger and Theresa. It was sad that the kids had behaved better than the PTO board. The boys hadn’t hit each other, shredded any clothing, or called each other names.
Skye’s lucky streak continued, and she was able to leave school on time, which meant she had a luxurious half hour in which to pick up Toby and get over to the rectory. Skye thought she might even have a chance to talk to Simon about Suzette. If he hadn’t been able to figure out why the singer looked familiar, maybe Skye could nudge his memory.
Simon swung open the front door of his house as soon as Skye knocked, almost as if he had been waiting for her in the foyer. She cringed. Had Toby destroyed a valuable antique or misbehaved so badly that Simon couldn’t wait to get rid of him? No, that couldn’t be it. The little dog sat obediently at Simon’s feet, neither barking nor jumping.
“Hi.” Simon smiled warmly. “Do you have time to come in, or are you in a hurry?”
“Well . . .” A small voice inside her warned that being alone with Simon in his home might be misconstrued by both her ex and Wally. But it had been a month since Simon’s last over-the-top stunt in his quest to win her back, and she was hoping he’d finally realized his continued pursuit was futile. “I have a few minutes before I have to be at the church.”
“Great.” Simon stepped back so she could enter. “I want to show you a trick I taught Toby.” He led her down the hall, through the kitchen, and into a screened-in porch, gesturing for her to take a seat.
She chose a bronze wrought-iron chair with black-and-tan-plaid cushions. Simon perched on the end of a matching chaise longue.
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