Dr. Wraige continued his tirade. “I think it’s time you retired.”
Homer Knapik had been the high school principal so long it was difficult to remember anyone else ever occupying the position. For the past several years, every spring he’d announced that he was stepping down. But like the cold weather, he had always returned in the fall.
“You know I can’t,” Homer whined. “My investments really tanked during the recession and—”
Dr. Wraige cut him off and said, “You have plenty of money.”
“Right.” Homer’s voice reeked with sarcasm. “As long as I die before tomorrow morning, I have all the cash I’ll ever need.”
“I don’t care!” Dr. Wraige thundered. “I can’t look the other way anymore. You’ve put the entire district at risk because you can’t keep your damn mouth shut.”
“It wasn’t my fault,” Homer babbled. “It’s that intern. That stupid bit—”
“Save it,” Dr. Wraige snapped. “You’re an idiot. How in the hell could you allow yourself to be recorded saying those unprofessional things to that woman?”
Skye glanced down the hall. She was afraid she would be caught eavesdropping, but she couldn’t make herself leave.
“I forgot,” Homer bleated. “Skye or that other one should have reminded me.”
“They did!” Dr. Wraige bellowed.
“Anyway, it doesn’t matter now.” Homer seemed to gain confidence. “That Quinn woman is dead, so the lawsuits against me and the school will go away.”
“You don’t think her husband will pursue them?” Dr. Wraige sneered.
“Her husband?” Homer stuttered. “No one told me she had a husband.”
“Didn’t you even read the child’s file?” Dr. Wraige’s tone dripped with disbelief. “I’m beginning to think that the wheels do not go round and round on your bus.”
“There’s no call to get insulting,” Homer protested. “It wasn’t even my kid. This whole thing should have been Carolyn’s headache.”
“How I wish she had been the one to handle it, but you were there, not her.”
“I…” Homer’s heavy breathing was audible. “Since the husband didn’t care enough to show up at the meeting, I bet he’ll let the whole matter go. I’m sure if I approach him man to man—”
“Absolutely not!” Dr. Wraige cut Homer off for the third time. “You will instruct Mrs. Boyd to personally meet with him and offer anything, and I do mean anything, he wants for his child in exchange for dropping the lawsuits. You will not speak to Mr. Quinn or anyone having to do with Jenna Quinn. Am I clear?”
“Fine,” Homer griped. “I never wanted to be involved anyway.”
“Then for once we’re all on the same page.”
As the door flew open, Skye only had time to jump back and pretend as if she were coming down the hallway before Dr. Wraige exited Homer’s office.
“Mrs. Boyd.” The superintendent’s smile was all teeth and no sincerity. “Just who I need to see.”
In his late fifties, Shamus Wraige was a solidly built two hundred pounds. His red hair had faded, giving it the appearance of a rusty steel wool pad. And his personality was about as warm. He towered over Skye, using his size and position to try to intimidate her.
“My name is Denison-Boyd,” Skye said coolly.
If they wanted her to clean up their mess, they could treat her with a little respect.
Wraige’s pale-brown eyes narrowed, but he acquiesced, “Sorry, Mrs. Denison-Boyd.”
“Yes?” Skye bit her tongue to keep from grinning at the pain in his voice.
“Whenever you feel the time is appropriate, I would like you to meet with Mr. Quinn and assure him that whatever program he would like his daughter to attend is fine with the school district.” Dr. Wraige tilted his head as if assessing Skye’s knowledge of the situation, then added, “That of course is contingent upon him dropping those silly lawsuits his wife filed.”
“I’m not sure we can legally require him to do that.” Skye searched her mind regarding best practices, but although nothing specific came to mind, she was pretty sure blackmail was considered a no-no.
Dr. Wraige inched closer, and Skye found herself with her back literally to the wall. “It is perfectly legal to offer quid pro quo.”
“Then maybe you should be the one to talk to Mr. Quinn.” Skye injected a note of innocence into her voice.
“I believe it is best for a trained psychologist to handle this.” Dr. Wraige’s face flushed.
“Fine. I will discuss his daughter’s education with him, but I won’t threaten to withhold services if he continues to sue us.”
“Fine.” Dr. Wraige echoed her words. “Just make this all go away and I will personally guarantee you a reasonable-sized office in each school building and a budget for furnishings and equipment.”
Skye blinked. He was offering her the school psychologist holy grail.
Before she could formulate a response, the superintendent abruptly turned and strode down the hallway. Pausing just before stepping into the main office, he said, “And if you don’t, I’ll make sure that the only space you have to work in is the boy’s locker room.”
Chapter 12
Take the Long Way Home
Skye glared at the superintendent’s back as he disappeared from sight. Shaking her head at the nerve of the man, she checked her watch and saw that the PPS meeting would be starting in less than a minute.
Crap! She hurried down the hall and into the main office. Opal waved a sheaf of papers at her as she rushed past the woman, but Skye didn’t have time to stop for them. She’d always emphasized to the team how important it was to be prompt and showing up late would set a bad example.
Instead, she called out, “I’ll pick them up before I leave for home.”
Skye jogged across the large lobby area and race-walked through the corridors heading for the art room. Of course it was in the farthest section of the building, sharing a wing with music, consumer science a.k.a. home ec, and industrial technology a.k.a. shop.
PPS meetings were held weekly in each school to assist students exhibiting academic, social, or physical needs. Skye, the principal, special education teacher, speech therapist, and nurse met to discuss pupils experiencing difficulties in those areas.
None of the team ever missed a PPS meeting without a really good excuse—like death—if for no other reason than to defend themselves from getting assigned the unpleasant duties.
Classroom teachers who had referred the children on the agenda were scheduled in fifteen-minute slots, which nearly always ran over, causing the next person to have to wait. Skye had suggested that the appointments be lengthened to thirty or at least twenty minutes, but Homer refused, stating it would just make the teachers even more long-winded.
Skye was shaking her head at his reasoning when she entered the high school’s art room and got a whiff of turpentine, clay, and glue. Scraps of brightly colored construction paper were scattered on the faded green linoleum from whatever lesson had been taught the previous period. The windows rattled as wind gusts pummeled them, and cold air seeped around the frames, causing the students’ projects hanging from the ceiling to rustle.
The members of the PPS team sat silently at two long tables that had been pushed together to form a square. The only one missing after Skye entered the room was Homer.
Skye slid into an empty seat between Piper and Euphemia Cunningham, the latest special education teacher. Neither the junior high nor the high school seemed able to retain a special education teacher for longer than a year. From the time Skye had begun working for the district, there had been a new one every fall. For some reason—probably the low salary, poor working conditions, and/or lack of respect—it was difficult to keep good educators in Scumble River.
Euphemia had come from the St. Louis school system after teaching there for ten
years. Short, barely over five feet, and stocky, so far she seemed to take whatever was thrown at her in stride.
When she was interviewed, Euphemia had said she was looking for a change of pace. And Skye had to admit Scumble River was certainly different from the mean streets of the area where the woman had been teaching.
Skye had been meaning to ask how Euphemia was doing. The teacher’s caseload consisted of students with behavior disorders and severe learning disabilities who were mostly in regular classes. They were supported by the special education department, which consisted of Euphemia and six teacher assistants.
Since Skye’s plans to go over the referred pupils with Piper before the meeting had been scuttled by her eavesdropping on Homer and the superintendent, she grabbed the agenda and quickly skimmed the names. None of the kids were frequent flyers and she scooted the pile of folders closer to her chair. She’d have to scan them as the students were being discussed.
Skye had just taken a glance at the first file when Homer stomped in, shot her an annoyed look, and said, “Sorry I’m late.” He shrugged his massive shoulders. “But let’s be real, I didn’t want to be here, so make this quick.”
“Okeydokey.”
Sure that she’d remained expressionless, Skye was exasperated when Homer barked, “Wipe that smirk off your lips.”
Skye had had it with Homer and retorted, “I can’t be held responsible for what my face does when you talk.”
There was a gasp from the others, then Abby Fleming, the school nurse, drawled, “I agree. Homer, you test my patience too, and the results are not benign.”
The principal’s mouth flapped open and closed like a fish out of water, then ignoring his mutinying staff, he narrowed his eyes and turned his gaze to Piper. “You ready to get this thing going?”
“Yes, sir,” the intern squeaked. “I see there are several students on the list, so I believe we will need the full hour.”
Homer sulked as he took a seat and scowled at the paper in front of him.
Piper glanced at Skye, who nodded for her to continue.
Straightening her spine, Piper looked at the special education teacher and said, “Euphemia, please tell the team what you told me this morning.”
The teacher cleared her throat and said, “One of the rewards available to my students is an after-school session in the weight room, which I supervise. Yesterday, I had three boys taking advantage of that reward and they were all strangely excited.”
Skye watched Piper’s expression darken and wondered what was coming.
Euphemia’s face clouded. “I sit at a desk in the back of the room. It allows me to keep an eye on them, but also gives them a chance to maintain their behavior without my instruction.” She sighed. “But yesterday, they seemed unusually wired so I listened a lot closer to their conversation than I normally do.”
Abby flipped her long blond hair over her shoulder and asked, “And what did you hear?”
“There’s a new internet challenge called the invisibility prank.” Euphemia’s brown eyes were hard. “And it’s just plain mean.”
“What in the name of all that’s holy is that?” Homer demanded.
“According to what I saw online,” Euphemia answered, “the prank involves convincing a child, usually a younger sibling, that he or she is invisible.”
“How in the heck do they do that?” Homer’s furry eyebrows formed a single caterpillar.
“They start by pretending to do a magic trick,” Euphemia explained. “They cover the child in a sheet, then they remove it and claim that the child is now invisible. They also Photoshop a picture to demonstrate to the child that he or she no longer shows up in snapshots. Many kids who have been the victims of this prank have become hysterical.”
“That doesn’t sound too bad. Just kids having some fun,” Homer sneered. “You all baby these kids too much. Stuff like this toughens them up.” He shook his massive head. “You women all overthink everything. And overanalyzing is the art of creating problems that don’t exist.”
Ignoring Homer’s pronouncement, Belle Whitney, the speech therapist, demanded, “Can you explain to me how making a child violently sob with a prank is funny? How can frightening the life out of a kid be cool with anyone?”
Abby shook her head. “And what if that child has asthma or decides since he or she is invisible they can do something dangerous?”
“Did you call their parents?” Skye asked, mentally running through Euphemia’s class list, attempting to determine which moms and dads would be helpful and which wouldn’t.
Before the teacher could respond, Piper answered, “I asked her to wait until this meeting. I thought that some of the mothers and fathers might need some guidance on how to handle the situation.” Her voice dropped as she sneaked a peak at Homer. “And I was afraid that a few might think it was funny and not see the harm the prank could cause.”
“Do you want me to talk to the parents with you?” Skye offered.
“I just want some help getting a handout together that outlines the danger of this prank and why it’s a bad idea.” Euphemia shook her head and the beads on her braids clicked softly together. “I think this is a good opportunity for me to get to know the parents better and allow them to see me as a part of their team.”
“That’s a great idea,” Skye said. “And just off the top of my head, you can emphasize how causing children unnecessary distress isn’t good for them, particularly the very young or very fragile kids.” She thought for a moment and added, “Point out that there are a lot of other ways to provide a stimulating environment for their children and this type of prank doesn’t provide any benefit to either cognitive or developmental function.” She paused, then said, “And one more thing. Perhaps the most important issue is that something like this could ruin the relationship between the siblings involved.”
Euphemia beamed at Skye. “Those are terrific starting points. Thanks!”
“You’re very welcome.” Skye smiled back and then said to Piper, “I bet you would have come up with the same suggestions if you thought about it.”
“Maybe.” Piper dipped her head. “But this was too important to fly solo.”
Homer snorted and pushed back his chair. “Now that we’ve all had our feel-good moments, can we get on with the kids who are actually on the agenda?”
“Of course.” Piper’s cheeks reddened. “Although Ms. Cormorant has referred Liam Gooding, she refused to attend the meeting. She said that her time is too precious to waste on a subpar student. She feels that he is intellectually delayed.”
Belle and Abby rolled their eyes. Like Homer, Pru Cormorant should have retired twenty years ago, or maybe she shouldn’t have ever been a teacher. The woman had been a blister on Skye’s big toe since Skye had first stepped foot in Scumble River High School. The sound of Pru’s loud, whiney voice made Skye consider sticking pencils in her ears just to stop the painful noise.
Pru regularly mailed parents insulting notes. One she’d sent just before Skye went on maternity leave had said:
I noticed today that your daughter’s lunch included four chocolate bars, a bag of gummy bears, soda crackers, and a pickle. Unless she is pregnant, in which case she shouldn’t be in school, please see that she has a proper lunch tomorrow.
The English teacher had also flat-out refused to have children with special needs in her classes. She preferred to deal only with intellectually gifted and extremely motivated pupils. At the first sign of laziness or a behavior issue, she complained until Homer transferred the student to another teacher.
Intent on setting a good example instead of commenting on Pru, Skye asked, “Did you review Liam’s file?”
After her little lapse with Homer, Skye was determined to keep the tone of the meeting professional. She’d be a good role model for her intern if it killed her.
“Yes.” Piper tapped
the folder Skye held in her hands. “His group intellectual measures put him in the high average range, his achievement scores are all above grade level, and currently his lowest grade in any class is a B, and that’s in Ms. Cormorant’s class.”
Homer grabbed the file from Skye’s grip and slapped it down on the table. “Next.”
Thirty minutes later, they’d made it through names three and four on the agenda. Each of the referring teachers had come in and discussed her concerns. Piper gave the women suggestions and promised to observe the students in their classrooms.
When Skye noticed that the fifth student on the agenda was a boy whose mother had referred him with speech and language concerns, she realized that this might be her best chance to go through Homer’s trash.
Before they began the discussion, she said, “Sorry. I need to go to the bathroom really quick. Go ahead without me.”
“I thought now that you’re finally not pregnant anymore you might be able to last an entire meeting without rushing off to the john,” Homer sneered.
Ignoring him, Skye grabbed her tote bag and hurried out the classroom door. Luckily, it was between passing periods and she could jog down the hallway without any of the kids seeing her break the no-running rule. She slowed just before she reached the lobby and continued though it at a more sedate pace.
Opal was at the counter, and as Skye passed her, she picked up the stack of papers she’d tried to give her before and said, “Here are those special ed forms I wanted to give you.”
“Great.” Skye tucked them in her tote and explained, “I need to use the restroom, but the PPS is still going on so I have to be quick.”
The main office was set up with an open area in front. Opal’s desk and the staff mailboxes were behind the long counter that bisected it from the lobby. A short corridor led to the rear of the area. The nurse’s office was on one side and a unisex bathroom was on the other. Homer’s office was at the very back.
Thankful the secretary didn’t ask why she hadn’t gone to the bathroom in the art room’s wing, Skye hurried away. She’d just started down the short hallway when a familiar voice from inside the nurse’s office called out her name.
Come Homicide or High Water Page 12