Murder of a Sleeping Beauty

He looked her over seductively, ending at the offending footwear. The thin blue straps emphasized her high arches and nicely shaped ankles. “Very pretty.”

She wasn’t sure if he meant the shoes or her. Feelings that she had suppressed for the last nine months were fighting their way to the surface, and she forced herself to move out of his arms. “Thanks. I got them at Spiegel.” What a dumb thing to say. She mentally hit her forehead with her hand. Like Simon cares where I buy my shoes.

As they reached the double glass doors, Father Burns stopped them. “Skye, Simon, just the people I’ve been wanting to talk to. Do you have a few minutes?”

The priest had saved Skye’s life last summer. Anything the man wanted, she was willing to try and do. “Certainly, Father.”

Simon nodded, and Father Burns said, “Good, good. Why don’t you wait for me next door?”

The housekeeper greeted them at the door to the rectory, guided them to the priest’s office, and offered them seats.

Once the woman left, Skye finally broke the silence. “So, how have you been?”

“Fine. And you?”

“Okay.” She tried to think of something else to say. “Play any bridge lately?”

“No, I haven’t found another partner. You?”

Her heart lurched at his words. They’d had a great bridge partnership—among other things. “No. If it weren’t for my little computerized handheld game, I’d forget how to play.”

“I bought one of those too—Nintendo for adults. Did you get yours at K’s Merchandise in Kankakee?”

“Probably. My parents got it for me for Christmas, and they shop there.”

“Mine has a cord to connect to another unit. Does yours?”

“Yes. Maybe we could try it out sometime,” Skye blurted out before she realized what she was saying.

Simon started to nod, then seemed to catch himself. A veil dropped over his features. After a long silence he remarked, “So, I hear you talked to Xavier’s daughter.”

“Who?” Skye was still going over her incredibly stupid gaffe and hadn’t followed what he meant.

“Frannie Ryan is the daughter of my assistant, Xavier Ryan. Frannie comes to talk to me when she needs a shoulder to cry on. Her mom’s dead, and since I haven’t had a mother since I was fourteen, we have a common bond. Xavier isn’t always the easiest person to confide in. Frannie liked talking to you.”

“I didn’t get the connection. Ryan’s a fairly common last name.” Skye remembered the teen’s hatred of Lorelei and her clique. “Was she upset by Lorelei’s death?”

“No. I’d say more half-afraid, half-thrilled. She doesn’t want you to think she killed Lorelei, because you’re so cool, but she was really psyched to finally tell someone how she was treated by that group of girls.”

“She’s welcome to talk to me anytime, about those feelings or anything else, although she will need to have her dad sign a consent slip,” Skye explained. “Unless it’s an emergency.”

“She’ll never ask her father.” Simon shrugged. “It’s really too bad. He’d do anything for her, but somehow he and Frannie just butt heads when they try to communicate.”

“Speaking of Lorelei, when will you have the results of the autopsy and tox screen?” As soon as the words left her mouth Skye experienced an “oh no, second”—that minuscule fraction of time in which she realized she had just blown the tiny chance she had to make up with Simon. Now he would never believe she was being nice to him for any reason except to gather information about Lorelei’s murder. Damn. Why had he brought up the subject?

Skye was saved from trying to explain herself when Father Burns strode into the room and smiled beatifically at them. “Sorry to keep you waiting. Today the parishioners had many things to discuss.”

“No problem, Father.” Skye gazed fondly at the priest.

“I wanted to talk to you about helping out your church. Our youth committee is in dire need of leadership.”

“Oh.” Simon raised an eyebrow.

“You two would be perfect,” Father Burns continued, leaning forward. “We need someone young, with an understanding of teens today. Skye, you have the training, and Simon, I’ve seen how well the kids react to you.”

Skye was silent. Did she really want to take on another job? On the other hand, maybe it would do her good to be around “average” kids without major problems. It would give her perspective. Besides, how could she turn down Father Burns’s request after all he’d done for her? She slid her gaze to Simon. What would his reaction be?

“What does the job entail?” Simon asked.

“Planning monthly youth activities mostly, and chaperoning them, of course.”

“Is there a budget?” Skye asked.

“Not really. Mostly they fund-raise. For some of the activities we do charge a small fee, but that’s waived if a family can’t afford it.”

Skye and Simon turned to each other. Both gave slight shrugs. Simon answered, “Okay, we’ll give it a try.”

Skye nodded in agreement. How hard could it be? “Sure, we’ll formulate a plan, then get back to you.” She convinced herself that the chance of seeing Simon on a regular basis had nothing to do with her acceptance.

Father Burns thanked them and escorted them out of the rectory. They parted at the end of the sidewalk with a promise to get together in a couple of days and talk.

The church was located on the corner of Stebler and Basin. Simon headed toward the parking lot and Skye toward the street.

At the bench on the corner, Skye sat and exchanged her sandals for the Keds she had stuffed into her purse. She held her breath as Simon drove by in his Lexus. She squinted to read his bumper sticker: LOTTERY: A TAX ON PEOPLE WHO ARE BAD AT MATH. Typical of Simon’s dry sense of humor.

Skye sighed. He hadn’t even offered her a ride. Of course, he didn’t know she was without a car. Giving herself a mental shake, she bounced to her feet. She didn’t need a ride or anything else from anybody. It was less than a mile to her cottage, and a beautiful day to walk.

As Skye neared her house, she noticed several cars parked in the driveway. She recognized her parents’ white Oldsmobile, her brother’s Jeep, and Charlie’s Caddy, but the glimpses of aqua worried her.

Her father, Jed, greeted her enthusiastically and took her right arm. “Skye, we’ve got a surprise for you,” he exclaimed.

He was much more animated than she could ever remember seeing him. His deeply tanned faced was wrinkled with a smile, and his faded brown eyes were twinkling. Even his gray crew cut seemed to be standing at attention.

“Oh, today is full of surprises,” Skye remarked dryly, and tried to edge closer to whatever her family was trying to hide from her. A tarp covered most of the object, but she was afraid she knew what it was. They had gone against her wishes and bought her a car. The only question that remained was: What kind of vehicle had they purchased? The thought of what their collective minds would come up with made Skye shudder.

May took her place on Skye’s left. “Close your eyes.”

Skye was way ahead of her mother’s orders. The problem was: Could she bring herself to ever open them again?

Vince stood behind her and whispered in her ear, “It’s not as bad as it might seem at first.”

Skye heard the tarp being pulled off as Charlie yelled, “Ta-dah!”

She forced herself to look. Her mouth dropped open and little sounds came out, but no words. The car was bigger than Charlie’s Cadillac, painted a bright turquoise, and . . . and it had fins. She moaned.

Charlie took her hand and led her toward the vehicle. “I’ll bet you don’t know what a gem me and your daddy found for you.”

Skye shook her head, unable to produce a coherent utterance.

Jed declared, “This is a genuine 1957 Chevrolet Bel Air.”

When Skye still didn’t respond, May poked her in the side. “Your father has been working on this car for you since December. It was a wreck when Charlie discovered it in old man Gar’s barn.”

“I knew what a beauty was hidden beneath the rust and rags,” Charlie said, using his sleeve to wipe a smudge off the hood.

Jed relinquished his grip on Skye’s arm and popped open the hood. “See that? Everything’s like new. This’ll run forever. They don’t make ’em like that anymore.”

Skye peered at the engine. It was clean enough to eat from. She looked at Vince with raised brows. He shrugged and leaned against his Jeep.

“Here, sit behind the wheel.” Charlie opened the driver’s door, and May shoved Skye inside.

“Wow,” Skye finally managed to say. “This leather is so soft.” The front bench was mostly white with broad aqua stripes running down both edges, a double band down the middle. The seat was wide and comfortable.

“Take it for a spin,” Charlie urged, handing her the keys.

“It’s really big and bright. People will talk.”

Charlie stuck his thumbs in his red suspenders and puffed out his chest. “If you ain’t makin’ waves, you ain’t kickin’ hard enough.”

“Ah, well.” Skye located the ignition and slid the key in the slot. “Vince, why don’t you come with me?”

He grinned. “Sure.”

Skye handed Charlie her house keys. “You guys go in and have some coffee or something. We’ll be right back.”

The car was so big that it took her a while to get used to driving it, and instead of talking she concentrated on keeping it between the lines of the road. When she reached a straight stretch, she said, “How in the world did they come up with this? And why didn’t you warn me?”

Vince laughed. “They’re getting too smart. They didn’t tell me until this morning. Mom and Dad came over after eight o’clock Mass. They know you always go at ten.” He put his arm across the back of the seat. “Mom was driving their car, and Dad had this one. They told me to meet them at your place at eleven. Charlie was already there when I arrived.”

“What am I going to do?” Skye searched for a place to turn the huge car around.

“What can you do? They’d be crushed if you turned it down.”

Skye pounded the wheel and almost ran the Bel Air into the ditch. “But I want to pick out my own car. I’m thirty-one years old, and I’ve never chosen my own vehicle.”

“So?” Vince was not as into independence as Skye was. He was happy to have Jed mow the lawn in front of his shop once a week, and he was thrilled that May brought him lunch every day.

“It’s not right that they spend so much of their money on us,” Skye said. As they drove down Basin Street, people waved at them as if they were royalty.

Vince had perfected the princely motion and was waving back. “Hey, we get it all when they die anyway. At least when they give us presents, they get to share our pleasure.”

Skye narrowed her eyes. They were almost back at her cottage. “What do you get out of all this?” Vince was too eager for her to accept this gift. He had to have an ulterior motive. Besides, their parents would never spend this kind of money on her without also getting Vince something nearly as valuable.

Vince looked straight ahead. “They promised me a new set of drums.”

“I thought you quit playing in high school.”

“I always kept a set to mess around on, but these are the best you can buy.”

Skye turned the Chevrolet into her drive, and cut the ignition. “It’s not like they wouldn’t buy you the drums if I turned down this car.”

Vince hopped out and headed inside. “That’s not the point. The point is, how can you say to Dad, ‘Sorry, I don’t want the gift you worked four months restoring’? And how can you say to Charlie, ‘I don’t want the car you found for me.’ He gave old man Gar’s son the secret location of his favorite fishing spot to get this car for you.”

Skye pursed her lips. “This is my new car, isn’t it?”

Vince nodded as he opened the cottage door for her.

She turned and took another look at the Bel Air. “Well, I always wanted a convertible.”

Monday morning brought the April showers made famous in the poem. Skye scowled into her closet. What to wear, what to wear—the age-old question that haunted women of every age, shape, and profession.

She felt in the mood for black, but would that be fair to the kids? Pastels were out in this weather. The sage-green outfit she’d bought last spring on sale at T.J. Maxx would be perfect.

After feeding Bingo and herself breakfast, Skye donned her tan trench coat, grabbed her purse, and ran for the Bel Air. It was nice to have her own transportation again. And she felt better now that she had convinced her folks and Charlie to accept the check from the insurance company, when it came.

Still, this was hardly the Miata she had pictured herself buzzing around town in. She just hoped the roof would stay up. It had a tendency to fall down whenever she hit a bump, and the only way to raise it again was to pull over and tug on it by hand.

The elementary school was already humming when she arrived. Teachers were discussing the weather and whether they should plan to have recess inside or outside today. The kids were talking about their weekends. And the phone was ringing with parents calling to ask questions they could have answered for themselves if they read the weekly newsletter.

Skye signed in unnoticed, grabbed the messages from her box, and headed toward her office. Since she had lasted a second year in the job, the elementary school had been forced to ante up the space they had promised her when she was first hired.

It had been given grudgingly, was not much bigger than a voting booth, and outside the door, in the hallway, was the milk cooler that had occupied that room before Skye’s tenancy. It rattled and shrieked, scaring many of the kids Skye was trying to work with. But, she was quick to remind herself, at least she had a private office all to herself—except on Tuesday and Thursday mornings when the speech therapist used it.

Skye hung her coat behind the door, celebrating another small victory. It had taken months to hound the custodian into putting up that hook. She stowed her purse in the desk drawer and opened her appointment book. Her morning schedule included observing a first grader, therapy sessions with two second graders, and testing a kindergartner.

She grabbed the first grader’s file and made her way to the classroom. Twenty minutes later, she was noting the number of times the child had left his seat without permission when there was a knock on the classroom door. It was Fern Otte, the secretary, who motioned to Skye.

Grabbing her pad and pencil, Skye left the room as unobtrusively as possible. Several kids whispered good-bye and waved to her, undoing her effort.

As soon as the classroom door closed behind Skye, Fern whispered, “Hurry, there’s a problem in Mrs. Kennedy’s room.”

“What’s wrong?” Skye followed the secretary.

“I can’t explain. Hurry.”

Caroline Greer greeted Skye at the door. “Another crisis, I’m afraid,” she said.

The third-grade classroom was in an uproar. Most of the kids were seated, but the noise level would have registered well above “acid-rock band” on the meter.

Skye frowned. Caroline was a great principal. Two emergencies in one year, let alone within days of each other, were unheard of for her.

“Give me the big picture first,” Skye requested.

“Shauna”—Caroline pointed to a little girl standing by the teacher—“had a disagreement with Cassie over a dance recital they’re both in next weekend.”

“And?” Skye waited for the other shoe to drop.

Caroline motioned for the teacher to join them. “Mrs. Kennedy, please give Ms. Denison the details.”

“Cassie sits in front of Shauna. I was at the blackboard writing out math problems when I heard the girls start to argue. I shushed them.”

“Then what happened?” Skye asked, worried because she didn’t see the other girl anywhere.

“I turned back to the board, and all of a sudden I heard a scream.” The older woman grabbed a piece of paper and fanned herself. “I turned around, and Shauna was holding a huge pair of scissors in one hand and Cassie’s hacked-off braid in the other.”

“Oh, my.” Skye hadn’t seen that coming. “Where’s Cassie?”

“In the bathroom with my student teacher. She refuses to come out.” Mrs. Kennedy paused. “Cassie, that is, not the student teacher.”

“I’d better talk to Shauna first.”

“You can use the room next door,” Caroline Greer whispered to Skye. “That class is on a field trip.” In her normal voice she said, “Shauna, this is Ms. Denison. You need to talk to her about what you did to Cassie.”

Shauna walked between the adults, out of her classroom and into the next one. Mrs. Greer left them alone.

Skye pulled up a couple of chairs. She urged Shauna to sit and followed suit. “Tell me what happened.”

A stubborn look settled on the little girl’s face, and she crossed her arms. “My mom said I should have had the lead in the recital, and that Cassie’s mom was sleeping with our dance teacher. That’s why she got the lead, not me.”

“Uh-huh.” Skye wasn’t sure if the girl understood what “sleeping with” someone meant. “How did you feel about that?”

“I told my mom she should sleep with the teacher, too. Then I could have the lead.”

“And what did your mom say to that?” Skye still wasn’t sure if Shauna knew what she was saying.

“Mom said she wasn’t a lizzy bean so that wouldn’t work.”

“Did you know what she meant?” Skye asked hesitantly.

Shauna shook her head. “Not really, so I figured if Mom wasn’t going to sleep with my teacher, I’d better make Cassie give me the part myself.”

“So you and Cassie argued about that this morning?”

“Right.”

“And that’s why you cut off her braid?”

The girl twirled one of her own long curls. “Not exactly.”

“Then why, exactly?” Skye asked.

“Mom said that it was too bad we both had long hair, because if Cassie didn’t, our teacher would have to let me be the lead.”

“Oh?” Skye made encouraging noises to continue.

“Yeah, so I took the scissors my mom uses to cut flowers and put them in my backpack, and when Cassie said she wouldn’t give me the lead in the recital, I took them out and cut off her braid.” Shauna looked straight at Skye. “It was easy, like snipping one of my mom’s roses.”

“I’m still not sure how cutting off Cassie’s braid will get you the lead,” Skye said.

Shauna flipped back her waist-length hair and stood. “Because we’re doing Rapunzel, silly.”

CHAPTER 11

Hook, Line, and Stinker

The rest of Skye’s morning was taken up by The Case of the Third-Grade Barber. Both mothers were summoned, and a great number of preposterous accusations were exchanged. The issue was somewhat resolved with Shauna’s three-day suspension and a quick call to Vince, securing Cassie an immediate appointment to have her hacked hair styled. But Cassie’s mother was still unhappy until Skye contacted the dance teacher, who reassured everyone that Cassie would continue to dance the role of Rapunzel, wearing a wig. Shauna would not take part in the recital in any capacity.

Because of the problem at the elementary school, it was nearly one o’clock by the time Skye reached the high school. As usual, her schedule was shot, and she was trying to play catch-up. For once, the guidance office was unlocked and empty. After stashing her raincoat, Skye grabbed her calendar. Who or what was first?

She had missed two appointments—one with a girl who had been referred to her for impulse-control problems. The teen was making a lot of progress and was nearly ready to be dismissed from counseling. A missed session wouldn’t hurt her.

The other appointment was with a young man whose grades were mysteriously dropping after a lifetime of straight As. Skye had originally suspected either depression or substance abuse, but after several meetings she didn’t see any evidence of either. He claimed he didn’t like the teachers, and Skye was ready to believe him. As Freud said, sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.

Damn! Skye had almost forgotten the meeting with Homer and Charlie scheduled for two o’clock. Charlie wanted to discuss formulating a crisis plan. While Skye agreed they needed one, she didn’t have time to deal with it just then. But she had no choice. The bosses had spoken. She’d better find the folder of plans she had collected from other schools. Why re-create the wheel when you could ride someone else’s tricycle?

“Ms. Denison?” A voice crept through the door. “You busy?”

“Come on in, Justin. I’m free until two.” It was best to tell kids up front what the timelines were; otherwise, they might think you were ending their session arbitrarily.

Justin slunk in and poured himself into a chair. His dull brown hair hung straight in his eyes, and his pasty skin had blossomed with acne. He was not a candidate for King of the Prom, and it was evident from his demeanor that he knew it.

“Hi, were we scheduled for today?” Skye asked. She didn’t remember seeing his name in her book.

“No. Want me to leave?”

“No. I was worried that I had forgotten an appointment, that’s all,” Skye reassured the skittish boy. “How are things going?”

“Okay.” He shrugged. “I’ve been thinking about Lorelei.”

“Oh?” Skye wondered where this was leading. Justin usually didn’t voluntarily talk to her, or think much about others.

“Yeah. Nobody’s acting sad she’s dead.” A troubled look passed over his normally expressionless face.

“And that bothers you?” Skye asked evenly. If Justin suspected she was interested, he’d close up tighter than a Tupperware container.

“Doesn’t seem right. The only ones that are acting sad are the ones that didn’t really know her. The ones that saw her as a princess, not a real person.” Justin slouched farther down in his chair. “Her so-called friends were nice to her, to her face, and now that she’s dead, it’s like they hated her.”

“That must be very confusing.” Skye ventured a guess.

“Yeah, well, it’s not right.” Justin avoided her eyes.

“Unfair, right?” Skye tried again.

He nodded. “She wasn’t like the rest of them.”

“In what way?”

“The other kids in that clique are all body Nazis.”

“And she wasn’t?” Skye didn’t have a clue as to what he meant, but she often had to keep the kid talking while she figured out the newest slang.

“No. She was always on a diet and talking about exercising, but she wasn’t hard-core. She wasn’t a fanatic who looked down on anyone who didn’t work out like a maniac. She’d even gained a little weight in the last couple of months.”

“How do you know that?” Skye casually slipped in the question, hoping he wouldn’t notice her interest. “You’re a freshman and she was a senior. You’d hardly ever see her.”

“I was helping her with her Spanish.”

“You speak Spanish?” Skye glanced at his file. “I don’t see you signed up for freshman Spanish.”

A trace of color seeped into his cheeks. “Once I got a video game, and the instructions were all in Spanish, so I got a Spanish-English dictionary and translated. Then I started to watch the Spanish-language TV and it just sort of came to me. I got an ear for it or something.”

“That’s amazing. I’ve never met anyone who taught himself another language. I’ll bet you could use that, and your talent for writing, and become a foreign corespondent for a newspaper after you finish college.”

Justin froze, his face deadpan.

It was obvious she had gone too far, gotten too enthusiastic. She quickly backed up and tried a less personal topic. “But how are you still hanging around with that group?” Skye couldn’t picture Justin with Troy and Chase, let alone Zoë.

“Long as I don’t say anything, they don’t even notice me.”

“You said they’re acting like they hated Lorelei. What do you mean?” Skye was relieved he was still talking to her after her gaffe.

“Zoë wants to be Lorelei. She wants her part in the play, her boyfriend, and the Miss Central Illinois title.”

“Sounds like Miss Zoë’s life has vastly improved with Lorelei out of the way.” Skye made a note. “Surely Troy is sad.”

“No! He’s happier. It was weird; they weren’t actually together these last few months, but they weren’t really broken up either. It was almost like he didn’t want to be her boyfriend anymore, but she was making him somehow.” Justin sounded near tears. “Now he’s flirting with the other cheerleaders.”

“Really?”

“The only thing on his mind is who he’ll take to prom.”

Skye was so amazed that Justin had shown some emotion that she made another mistake and appeared eager. “Do you know anything about Frannie Ryan?”

His face closed once again, and he shook his head.

She backpedaled quickly. “Do you want me to let you know when Lorelei’s wake will be?”

Justin shrugged. “If you want. I got class. Can I go?” “Sure, let me write you a pass.”

After Justin left, Skye sat back and thought about the conversation. He was full of surprises. Counseling him was like driving through hairpin turns—blindfolded, without any brakes.

It was nearly two. Skye picked up her folder and headed toward the principal’s office. Charlie was already there when she arrived. He and Homer were laughing. That was a bad sign. It meant the men were getting along, and she would get stuck doing all the work.

“Sit down.” Charlie patted the chair next to him. “I was telling Homer about your new car.”

“Charlie says it’s a real beauty. I’d love a ride.”

Skye had never seen the principal appear so excited about anything. His eyes were actually sparkling. “Sure, anytime.”

Homer turned to Charlie and asked, “Does the Bel Air have its original engine?”

Charlie went into a lengthy explanation. Skye’s mind wandered. Would this be her fate, being saddled with a car that only old men admired? At this rate, she’d end up dating one of Charlie’s cronies.

It was over between her and Kent. She just hadn’t told him yet. She had asked her cousin about his supposed affair with Lorna Ingels, and Gillian had said he had been seen with Lorelei’s mother on a couple of occasions. Once someone saw her sitting in his car at the gas station while he was inside paying. Another time they were spotted driving in the direction of Joliet. Gillian said he and Lorna had always had an explanation, which was why she had never mentioned any of this to Skye.

Even before Lorelei’s death, Kent’s narcissism had begun to grow tiresome. It hadn’t bothered her that he was dating other people, but to hear that he was having an affair with a married woman—that was beyond her tolerance limit. Thank goodness she had never slept with the creep.

Too bad things hadn’t gone better between her and Simon yesterday. How could she have been so stupid as to ask him about the autopsy, knowing his disapproval of her playing detective?

She shuddered and tried to refocus by calling the men back to the reason for the meeting. “So, Charlie, you wanted to talk about a crisis plan. Do you have something in mind?”

Charlie smoothed back his mane of white hair. “Yeah, I want it on paper so we can follow it step by step, like a recipe. If something like this girl’s dying ever happens again, damned if we’re going to be caught unprepared.”

“Here are a couple of plans from surrounding schools.” Skye handed the men stapled sheaves of paper.

Charlie flipped through the pages, but Homer barely glanced at his copies.

Charlie was the first to speak. “Why don’t you take the plans you have, and the outline the co-op gave us, and put them together as they apply to our district?”

“Charlie, should we start something like this without the superintendent’s input?” Homer asked anxiously.

“I talked to him this morning, and he gave it his blessing.” Charlie looked at Skye. “Any questions?”

“Yes. Look, without a social worker I’m already doing double duty. This should be done by a committee, or if not that, at least by the co-op coordinator. He would be more aware of what outside resources are available.”

The two men turned to each other. Skye didn’t see whatever signal passed between them, but Charlie said, “Not the co-op coordinator. He doesn’t know the school. We’re all busy, so just fit it in when you can.”

“Okay, but I’m up to my neck right now. I’ve got to start annual reviews soon. The coordinator isn’t doing them this year. I got a message from his office that they’re all mine.”

“I don’t know why we have to meet each year with every parent of every child in special education,” Homer grumbled.

“Because it’s a state and federal law, and it gives us a chance to review progress and plan for next year.”

Charlie stood. “Do the best you can. Try to have it to me by the first Tuesday in May, for the next school-board meeting.”

Skye twisted the Bel Air’s rearview mirror toward her and dug around in her tote bag for her makeup kit. The constant drizzle had transformed her smooth pageboy into a mass of waves. She yanked her wide-toothed comb through the ringlets and shoved a headband into place. After she applied lipstick and blush, she was ready to face Wally. Maybe today would be the day he forgave her.

His shift officially ended at three, but now that he was in the process of a divorce, he usually hung around longer.

Her mom was sitting behind the counter as Skye pushed through the glass door. May buzzed her through to the back. “What’s up?”

“I came to talk to Wally.”

“Good luck. According to Thea, he’s been a bear all afternoon. I haven’t seen him since I’ve been on. He hasn’t had the good manners to come out of his office and say hi.”

Before Skye could respond, a male voice spoke from the doorway. Wally stood with his arms crossed and a frown on his face. “May, I would prefer that you not allow your relatives behind the counter. If you look in your handbook, you’ll see it’s against the rules.”

Skye was shocked. If anything, he seemed more angry now than he had been last summer, when she went against his wishes and behind his back. Was it her or was he just having a bad day?

She finally said, “Sorry, Chief Boyd. It won’t happen again. But I did want to speak to you about . . .” Suddenly her mind went blank. What was it she wanted?

May quickly filled in. “You want to know about Lorelei’s autopsy and when the body will be released.”

“Thanks, Mom.” Skye smiled. That’s one of the nice things about living in a small town. Even if you don’t know what you’re doing, someone else probably does. “So, can you fill me in?” Skye asked.

“No.”

“What?” Skye couldn’t believe what she had heard.

“I said no. You have no right to that information.”

“I see.” Skye could feel her temper rising. She’d wanted to yell at Wally for a long time. The only thing that had stopped her was that he was in the right. She had betrayed his trust.

“Good.” He had been standing in the doorway between the dispatcher’s office and the interrogation room. Now he moved toward the other door leading to the stairs.

Skye followed him. “So how am I supposed to help the kids deal with Lorelei’s death if I don’t know what really happened, or even when she’ll be buried?”

He shrugged. “That’s not my problem.”

“No, it’s mine and the community’s.” Skye tried to speak evenly.

“You just want an excuse to nose around and play Sherlock Holmes.”

“That’s not true.” She shushed the small voice inside her head that told her she might be lying. “If this isn’t handled right, we could have a rash of suicides in response to Lorelei’s death.” Skye knew she was exaggerating, but it was possible. It had happened. She had read about it in the literature.

“I think all that crap about grieving and the seven stages and all that is just hooey you shrinks thought up to make a lot of money,” Wally said, looking straight into Skye’s eyes. “And I think you get a kick out of running around and being important and saving everyone.”

Skye’s lips thinned with anger. “What did you say?”

“You get a thrill out of being the center of attention. Your true reason for wanting to know this stuff is that you’re nosy.” His tone dripped with contempt. He tried to brush past her and go up the stairs.

She stepped into his path and threw her words at him like stones, wanting to hurt him back. “Ah, that explains your unreasonable hostility. Counseling didn’t work for you and Darleen, did it? So, of course it can’t be worthwhile for other people. Then you’d have to admit you failed as a husband.”

His eyes blazed dark fire, and he grabbed her by the upper arms. Time froze, then with a curse he moved her out of his way and stomped up the stairs.

She heard his office door slam, and she slowly turned and went back into the dispatcher’s office. What was wrong with her? Was she deliberately destroying any chance she had for a relationship with a man to whom she was attracted? Why had she intentionally poked and prodded at all his vulnerabilities? What had she been thinking?

It was plain that May had heard every word of the argument. Mother and daughter looked at each other in silence. May nodded to a chair, and Skye sank into it gratefully. Her knees were oddly weak, and her head was throbbing. She hated losing her temper.

“So,” May said, “is that smoke coming out of your ears from the bridge you just burned?” Her mother wasn’t much into comforting people.

Skye wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. “Was that as bad as I think it was?”

May nodded.

“Why did I let him get to me like that?” Skye buried her head in her hands.

“He sure knew the right buttons to push.” May tugged on her ear. “Of course, you were right in there, jabbing at his sore spots, too.”

“Is he right? Am I only involved in this investigation to make myself feel important?” Skye looked down at the tissue she was shredding.

“Probably a little. That’s human nature. But you’re also doing it because you like to help people.” May reached over and lifted Skye’s chin. “Even when you were little you were always the one who wanted to help. You used to iron for Grandma, and wrap all of Aunt Kitty’s Christmas presents, and you were always the one who insisted we stop at the nursing home to visit your great-grandma.”

Skye sniffed. It wasn’t like her mom to say something that nice. “I think I just learned an important lesson.”

“What?”

“It takes years to build up trust, and only a second to destroy it.” Skye shook her head. “I don’t think Wally is ever going to forgive me.”

“That may be true. But if he doesn’t, is he the kind of man you’d want—even to be friends with?”

May’s insights sometimes surprised Skye. “No, I guess not.” She got to her feet. “I suppose if he can’t see why I had to talk to those survivalists alone, then he doesn’t and won’t ever understand me.”

“That’s right, honey. And you don’t want a man like that.”

Skye nodded and got back to business. She whispered in May’s ear as she hugged her, “Can you get a copy of the autopsy?”

May shook her head, and whispered back, “No, the creep has it locked in his personal safe, and I don’t have the combination.”

“Rats. Have they said anything about releasing the body?”

“Not in front of me.” May made a face. “They’re keeping it all very hush-hush. The file isn’t even in the cabinet, and there’s nothing in the computer.”

“I wonder what the big secret is.” Skye’s brows drew together. “We know she died from an overdose of pills, and we’re pretty sure they weren’t self-administered, so what are they keeping from us? What does that autopsy show?”

May shrugged. “I’ll talk to the other dispatchers and see if they know anything.”

“Good idea.” Skye walked around to the other side of the counter. “I’ll think of a way of seeing that autopsy report yet,” she vowed.

CHAPTER 12

By Look or by Crook

Bingo yowled in protest when Skye flung off the covers and jumped up. He looked at her with accusing eyes, as if to say: What are you doing getting up, I haven’t ordered you to fix my breakfast yet.

Skye had followed her normal school-night routine and gone to bed at ten. It was now a little after eleven, and she had yet to fall asleep. She couldn’t stop thinking about Lorelei.

Charlie had called around six, wanting to know her progress in solving the murder. She’d had to admit she wasn’t getting very far in her investigation. And since Wally was keeping her in the dark, she had no idea if the police were doing any better.

The faster these thoughts crowded into Skye’s mind, the faster she pulled on clothes. But after she had finished dressing, she didn’t know what to do.

She sat on the edge of the unmade bed and stroked Bingo, who had forgiven her earlier indiscretion and was curled up by her side. She petted in time with his purrs, nearly lulling herself into the sleep that had eluded her earlier.

Just as she was about to nod off, it hit her. She had to see the autopsy report. Otherwise, she had no idea what direction to go. Obviously, something in that report was important.

How could she get ahold of the document? Too bad she didn’t know any safecrackers. She was pretty good with locked doors, but she’d never get the police department’s safe open by herself.

There was only one other place where a second copy of the autopsy might be found: Simon’s office. As the coroner, he’d keep a copy for his records. Since he had no clerical staff and wouldn’t worry about anyone snooping, the report probably wasn’t even locked up. So how could she get into the funeral home and take a look?

She could pretend someone in her family had died, and she needed to make arrangements. No. He’d never leave her alone long enough. Could she talk Simon’s assistant, Xavier, into letting her in, to “surprise” Simon? That was a bad idea on two counts. Xavier might get into trouble, and he knew that she and Simon were no longer a couple.

Skye wandered over to her dresser and stared in the mirror. She looked at the black jeans, black sweatshirt, and black shoes she had put on. Unconsciously she had selected clothes appropriate for breaking into the funeral home.

Grabbing a dark baseball cap, she tucked her hair underneath. She hoped breaking and entering wasn’t getting to be a habit with her. Previously she’d searched a condo on the Gold Coast and a bungalow on the South Side of Chicago, but she’d sort of had permission for those two intrusions. So this was the first time she was truly going to do something illegal. Did that make her feel better or worse?

In the kitchen, Skye rummaged through her junk drawer. She retrieved a heavy-duty flashlight, a pair of surgical gloves from one of the first-aid kits the school nurse passed out every year, and a thin piece of celluloid she had confiscated from a student attempting to open a locker that wasn’t his.

As she closed her front door, Skye was struck with how distinctive the Bel Air really was. Not the ideal vehicle with which to commit a crime.

While she drove toward town, she thought about where she could stash the Chevy while she burgled the funeral home. “The Purloined Letter” popped into her head. She’d hide the car in plain sight.

She pulled into the back of the used-car lot on Stebler and tucked the Chevy in among the other vehicles. From there it was only four blocks to Reid’s Funeral Home. The streets were empty, and most of the houses looked as if their occupants were asleep. Skye shivered; the temperature had dropped back into the forties, and she could smell rain in the air. It was a cold spring.

She was a block from her destination when the barking started. It wasn’t the yapping of a cute little fur ball; it was the full-throated woofs of a large breed such as a Doberman or German shepherd. This was a good part of town, but old habits died hard, and many residents felt safe only with shot-guns beside their beds and big dogs in their yards.

Skye quickened her pace and tried to pinpoint where the growling was coming from, and whether it was getting any closer. The house she was passing was surrounded with chain-link fence. Suddenly, the source of the barking roared around a corner and threw itself at the metal barrier. Skye started to run, which further inflamed the Rottweiler.

Looking back over her shoulder, she could see the porch light come on. A man dressed only in long johns appeared on the front step holding a rifle. “Hey, what’s going on out there?” The man squinted past the pool of light and into the darkness.

The dog barked for a few more minutes, then gave up. Skye kept running until she reached Simon’s house. His windows were dark. Skye waited for her breathing to return to normal, then moved on.

Across the street, the front of the funeral home was brightly illuminated. She crept toward the back, where Simon’s office was located. It was shrouded in darkness, and she shivered again, this time not from the frigid air. She looked around. No one in sight. She pulled on the latex gloves.

When she thumbed on the flashlight she noticed the time on her watch. Ten minutes to twelve. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Breaking into a mortuary at midnight seemed pretty stupid.

Skye shook her head. This was real life, not some scene from a horror movie. There was nothing inside that could hurt her. Still, images of the living dead danced in her head, and she had to force herself to aim the light at the lock and slip the celluloid into the crack.

Nothing happened. What was she doing wrong? Maybe she should have used her trusty Swiss Army knife. The locks usually popped right open when she applied its thinnest blade to the bolt. The kid had told her that what he called a “ ’loid” worked better, but she didn’t think so.

Before she could try again, a hand descended on her shoulder, and she let out a muffled scream as she whirled around.

She couldn’t believe her eyes. “What are you doing here?”

Justin Boward slouched in front of her, a smirk on his face. “I live back there.” He pointed across the backyard of the funeral home, toward the small white house that stood behind it. “I saw you with my night-vision binoculars. What are you doing here?”

This was not a good situation. Being caught breaking into a funeral home by a student ranked right up there among the top five reasons to be fired. What could she say to make Justin think this wasn’t what his eyes told him it was?

He continued before she could come up with a plausible excuse. “Say, I know what you’re doing. You’re investigating Lorelei’s murder. Cool.”

His demeanor had changed from a cat who had caught the canary to something close to admiration. She tried to wiggle out of the situation. “Well, no, ah, I’m just trying this out for a book I’m writing.”

Something shuttered closed behind his eyes, and Skye could see that lying had been a mistake. She tried to ease around the boy, thinking that retreat might be the best choice.

His words stopped her. “I hate it when adults lie to me.” His face was expressionless in the flashlight’s glare. “My parents do it all the time. My dad is never straight with me about his health. And my mother would rather lock herself in the bathroom and cry than tell me what’s really bothering her.”

Skye’s counseling instincts kicked in. “That must make you feel left out.”

He nodded.

She thought she saw a tear on his cheek, but it was too dark to tell.

Justin continued in a cold voice. “That’s why at school I make it a point to know about everything. Nobody will tell you anything directly, but if you hang around and listen, you find out stuff.”

“Does that help you feel more in control?” Skye couldn’t believe she was having a therapy session at midnight outside of a funeral home.

“Yeah. Someday the other kids are going to figure out I know all their dirty little secrets, and then they’ll realize I’m one of those bad things that happen to good people.”

“I don’t think so.” Skye took a chance and contradicted Justin. “I think you’re one of the good people, not one of the ‘bad things.’ ”

Hope, doubt, and denial chased across his face. Finally, he crossed his arms, and said, “So, are we breaking in here or not? And don’t give me that crap about research for a book.”

“No, we are not breaking in. We’re going home.” Skye realized it was time to call a halt to the whole idea.

Justin bent down and picked up the celluloid she had dropped. “Then you don’t need this.”

“Neither do you. Give it here.” She held out her hand.

He turned his back on her and inserted it into the door near the bolt. “This is how you open one of these types of locks.”

At the same time that the latched clicked and the door swung open, she heard another sound—footsteps crossing the street. Skye immediately switched off the flashlight and pushed Justin inside. She followed, quietly closing the door behind her. Unable to see in the utter darkness, she put her lips to what she hoped was the boy’s ear, and whispered, “Hide. Someone’s coming.”

She counted her blessings that at least Justin was one of the smartest kids she had in therapy. Without a word he silently faded away. Obviously his night vision was superior to hers.

Skye put up her hands to feel her way, trying to visualize where she was from previous visits to the funeral home. She thought she was in a tiny back hall and that Simon’s office was the first door to her right. She felt an opening at the same time she heard a key rattle. She slipped quickly inside the room, closed the door, and pushed the button to lock it.

She knew immediately that this was not Simon’s office. She must have gotten turned around, but it was too late to leave now. A light went on in the hall, and she heard footsteps pass the room she was hiding in.

Something wasn’t right. Where was she? There were only two choices, and neither one was a winner. She was either in the room where they prepared the bodies or she was . . . Her hand encountered cold metal, then smooth satin. Oh, shit. I’m in the casket-display room. Her heart started to beat rapidly. Swallowing a scream, she forced herself to think rationally. There’s nothing in here that can hurt me. She eased herself to a sitting position on the floor and tried to calm herself. Just because it’s midnight, and I’m locked in a room with a bunch of coffins does not mean that Dracula is out there sharpening his fangs.

She had never liked scary movies, but her Uncle Dante had loved them. Every Saturday night her parents would drop her and her brother off for Dante and Olive to baby-sit. And every week he would force them to watch Creature Features: two horror movies back-to-back, ending at midnight. Vince tried to help calm her fears, sitting next to her and holding her hand, but it was never enough. Because when she went to bed she was alone, and that’s when all the monsters came out to get her.

At a conscious level, she knew it was ridiculous for a grown woman to be frightened of vampires and werewolves, but down deep inside she was still the eight-year-old girl who had been terrified by those TV images. Skye still had occasional bad dreams starring the cast from those flicks.

She had to get her mind off where she was or she’d go crazy. Concentrating, she thought of Justin and said a prayer that he was okay, that he had managed to slip back outside and was at home this very minute. She’d never forgive herself if something happened to that boy because of her stupidity.

Skye stiffened. Someone was jiggling the door and cursing. She heard a key chain being taken from a pocket. She stood up. What was she going to do? The door would open any minute. The key was shoved into the lock. Before she could talk herself out of it, and as quietly as possible, she climbed into the nearest casket and eased down the lid.

I’m definitely going to scream or throw up. Maybe both. She tried to lie still and silent, but she could almost feel hot breath on her neck. No way would she be able to handle being closed in for long.

The situation reminded her of when she was six, and her cousin Hugo locked her in her grandmother’s hope chest. They had been playing hide-and-seek, and instead of finding her, he had turned the key and left her. She had screamed and screamed, but the chest was in the closet and no one heard her. Luckily, Vince missed her and forced Hugo to tell what he had done.

I’m going to faint. Skye tried to quiet her breathing. Bad move; now she could hear every rustle of the satin and every creak of the metal. Was that something gnawing on her ankle?

I can’t stand this. This is like my worst nightmare come to life. Maybe that’s it. Maybe I’m dreaming.

She couldn’t hear anything. How would she know when it was safe to come out? Or worse yet, what if the lid wouldn’t open? Skye felt the hysteria building and couldn’t control it. When they finally found her in this thing, she’d be either stark raving mad or dead.

Without warning, the top was flung open, and light flooded in, blinding her. She shrieked, thinking for a moment that some chainsaw-wielding maniac was after her.

She vaguely heard a shout, “What in blazes?” before she lost what little control she possessed.

Screaming, she fought the arms that reached for her. Despite her struggle, she felt herself being lifted from the casket.

A familiar, soothing voice said, “Skye, it’s Simon. You’re okay, sweetheart. You’re fine.” He patted her back and smoothed her hair until she calmed down. He handed her his handkerchief and waited for her to wipe her eyes and blow her nose.

Skye took a deep breath and focused on the gentle concern radiating from Simon’s features. “Sorry,” she hiccuped. “I don’t know what came over me.” She reached up and stroked his cheek. “I was convinced you were Norman Bates. Isn’t that stupid?”

Instead of the response she hoped for, the mask she had grown to recognize descended, and Simon said, “What in the hell are you doing inside a casket, inside my funeral home, at midnight?”

“Would you believe a scavenger hunt?” Her voice was shaky.

His expression darkened. “You have two minutes to tell me the truth, or I’m calling the police. Even your precious Wally would have trouble finding a reason not to arrest you this time.”

What could she say? “Well, um, I couldn’t sleep.”

“So you thought a casket would be more comfortable than your bed?”

“No, don’t be silly.”

His eyebrows shot into his hairline, and Simon said through closed teeth, “That’s not the attitude I’d take right now if I were you.”

Skye quickly tried another tack. “I’ve been missing you.”

“And you got confused between my house and the funeral home?” Simon’s tone remained unamused.

“No.” Skye tried to refocus his attention. “What are you doing prowling around here at midnight?”

“I own the place.”

“True. I didn’t say you didn’t have a right to be here. I just asked why?”

“You’d ask the Pope whether he were celibate after he heard your confession for murder, wouldn’t you?” Simon allowed a fleeting look of admiration to cross his face.

“Maybe. If I had a good reason. So, why are you here?”

“Because I left the book I was reading in my office, and when I couldn’t sleep, I decided to come get it. As I crossed the street, I saw a light bobbing around the back door. I’ve had trouble with kids and vandalism before, so I decided to investigate. Then I heard something thumping in the casket-display room. And you know, the sad thing is, I wasn’t even that surprised when I opened the lid and saw you.” He raised a brow. “Satisfied?”

“Yes.” Skye edged toward the door. “Sorry about all this. I was in the neighborhood and—”

He cut her off with a snarl. “Just tell me the truth for once.”

“Okay. Fine.” Skye had run out of both excuses and patience. “I wanted to see Lorelei Ingels’s autopsy. Wally is being stupid about the whole thing, and I knew you’d never let me look at it.”

“This is Wally’s and my fault?” His voice rose.

“In a sense, yes.” Her fear had been replaced with exasperation. “If you men would just cooperate. It’s not like I haven’t helped the police out before. Without me, they would never have figured out who killed Honey Adair or my grandmother.”

“So, now you want me to make a copy of the autopsy and send you on your way, so you can solve this crime for us, too?” A pulse became visible in Simon’s temple.

“That would be a step in the right direction.” How far could she take this before he exploded?

“Get out of here before I lose my temper, as well as my mind. I’m not calling the police, only out of respect for your family.” Simon took her arm and led her to the door. “If I ever catch you doing something like this again, I will press charges.”

He thrust her outside, but didn’t release her. “One more thing. How did you learn to pick locks?”

Skye forced a carefree smile, not willing to let Simon know how bad she really felt. “Hey, if I waited to get keys to the rooms at school, I’d never get anything done.”

Simon made a growling noise deep in his throat, stepped back inside, and closed the door in her face.

Skye took a shaky breath. Now, if only Justin were okay. She didn’t dare try and get back inside, and there were no windows to peer into. Her only choice was to see if he had made it home.

She walked toward the house he had pointed out earlier. What should she do? She couldn’t exactly ring the bell and ask for him.

As she approached what she hoped was his window, she heard, “Psst, over here.”

Skye turned around. The only thing she could see in the pitch-black backyard was a tree house.

Justin’s face appeared in the doorway. “Up here, Ms. D.”

“Come down,” she half whispered.

He grinned. “No, you come up. My parents might hear us down there.”

“As long as you’re okay. I’ve got to get going anyhow.” Skye turned. “I’ll see you at school tomorrow.”

“Ms. Denison.”

She turned back. “What?”

“I think you might want to see this right away.” He held up a sheaf of papers.

“What’s that?”

“Lorelei’s autopsy. I copied it while you and Mr. Reid were yelling at each other.”

She sighed. She was way too old to be climbing trees.

CHAPTER 13

Tryst for the Mill

Lorelei had been pregnant. Not even two months along, but definitely with child. So that was the big secret. Skye could see how the police would want to keep that quiet. It pointed the finger at a whole slew of new suspects. Troy Yates, the boyfriend, jumped right to the top of the list. And maybe her pregnancy explained why her parents were so against the autopsy.

The document contained nothing else of interest. Lorelei had been a healthy eighteen-year-old. No cause of death was listed. The medical examiner was waiting for the results of the toxicology tests.

Skye suspected that Justin was lying when he claimed he hadn’t had time to read the report. He had handed it over too easily. He’d either read the packet of papers or made another copy. But that was an issue she’d have to deal with another time.

It was after two by the time Skye got to bed. When her alarm rang at six o’clock, she hit the snooze button. She kept hitting it until seven, when Bingo added his vocal displeasure to the cacophony, and she swung her legs over the side of the bed. Another day without her morning swim. This had to stop. She needed to get back into her routine.

She was supposed to be at school by seven-thirty. No way could she call in sick. First of all, there was too much to do as the school year neared its end. Most importantly, today was PPS at the junior high. No one missed the Pupil Personal Services meeting without a really good excuse—like death. If you weren’t in attendance, you were the one assigned all the crappy duties.

Too tired to care what she looked like, Skye pulled on the first thing she grabbed from her closet—a knit pantsuit that, although extremely comfortable, bagged at the knees after a few hours of wear. She swept her hair back with a long clip, shoved her feet into flats, and ran out the door.

She was five minutes late arriving at the junior high school, and the principal, Neva Llewellyn, commented as she handed Skye a stack of message slips. “Looks like you had a hard night.”

Neva and Skye were on friendly terms, but the principal was a perfectionist and expected everyone else to be flawless also. Tardiness was one of her pet peeves.

Skye skidded to a halt. “Sorry.” She never was a morning person, and less than eight hours of sleep made her cranky. Less than five hours made her downright crabby. “Bad morning.” She had to be careful or she’d say something snippy she’d regret later. “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting.”

Neva raised an eyebrow. “Do you have appointments this morning before PPS?”

“I’ve got kids lined up to test. I need to get the reevaluations finished so I can get started on annual reviews.”

“Go get settled, but before you start, come talk to me,” Neva ordered.

Skye tucked her purse in her desk, prepared the room and materials for the first child she would evaluate, then sat down and leafed through her messages. One from Charlie stated the wake for Lorelei Ingels was being held that afternoon and evening. He wanted her to be there in case a student needed her help, and also to continue her investigation. The funeral would take place the next morning. Charlie again suggested that her presence was required.

A note from Homer said almost the same thing, although no snooping was mentioned.

After giving Ursula Nelson, the junior-high secretary, a pass for the student she wanted to test when the first bell rang, Skye knocked on the principal’s door.

Neva had redecorated when she took over from the last occupant, and the office had gone from utilitarian to tasteful. Skye seated herself in a Queen Anne chair and faced Neva across a gleaming wooden desk, breathing in the pleasant odor of vanilla that wafted through the air from a small bowl of potpourri tucked away on a butterfly table next to the ivory wall.

Neva straightened the sleeve of her flax-colored suit and leaned forward. “I don’t like it.”

Skye’s heart jumped, but she forced an unperturbed look on her face. “What?”

“The way the co-op coordinator has thrust his work onto us.”

“You mean the annual reviews?” Skye hazarded a guess.

“Yes, that’s his job.”

“That’s what I said, but the superintendent backed him up.”

“The old boys’ network, no doubt.” Neva tapped a perfectly manicured nail on the desktop.

“Probably, but to be fair, the coordinator is assigned to three other school districts.”

Neva ignored Skye’s comment. “So now we have to do all the paperwork, make the appointments, and run the meetings?”

“That’s what I was ordered to do. I was told to pick the dates with the special-education teachers, fill out the forms, send them to the co-op, where the secretary would type them and put together the file. Ursula would receive the packages and call the parents. If they couldn’t make the appointment, the whole process would start over.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Neva stood up. “I’ll look into it.”

Skye rose, too. “You might mention that since I have to do a ton of reevals, write the reports, and attend all the annual reviews, I’ll have to stop the counseling sessions at the end of this month, instead of continuing until the end of the year.”

Neva frowned as they walked out the door together. “That isn’t right.”

“No, it isn’t, and I’ll have to do it in all three schools.” Skye started down the hall, but stopped and said over her shoulder, “We really need a social worker. The board’s got to raise the beginning salary so we can attract one. I can’t do my real job the way it should be done because I’m always trying to make up for missing staff members.”

The morning went quickly. Most kids were very cooperative when tested. A lot even seemed to like the one-on-one attention and praise. One of the last tasks Skye had the student attempt was a written language sample that consisted of a short essay. During this time, Skye usually started to score the measures already administered, but today she was distracted and let her gaze wander over her office. She remembered the fight it had taken to obtain this space, when she had first come to work for Scumble River Junior High.

The room had originally been a janitor’s closet, and on damp days she could still smell the peculiar combination of bleach and mildew. Skye had covered the egg-yolk yellow walls with travel posters. Since she had no window, she had created a faux one using old curtains and a poster of a forest scene.

Her battered desk doubled as a testing table because the office was too small to accommodate both. She sat on a metal folding chair, and when she brought in a second chair for a student to use, there was no way to get to the door without crawling over something or somebody.

Still, it was her own space. She didn’t have to share it or beg for a room every time she came to the building. Many school psychologists would see that as a luxury.

Her student finished writing and pushed the form toward Skye. “It’s not very good.”

“Did you do the best you could?” Skye found this to be a better response than a meaningless “I’m sure it’s fine.”

The boy nodded.

“Well, I know you worked hard for me this morning, and I really appreciate your effort and concentration.” Skye reached into her drawer and pulled out a fistful of pencils and pens with team logos. “You may choose one for doing such a good job.”

The student hesitated, then selected a pen with the Chicago Bulls insignia. “Thanks. Will I see you again?”

“No, we finished everything this morning.” Skye filled out a pass and handed it over. “You can go back to class now. Bye.”

After the boy left, Skye straightened everything up, grabbed her PPS binder, and headed for the rest room. One of the first lessons she had learned as an intern was never to enter a meeting with a full bladder.

Skye reached the high school at twelve-fifteen and caught Trixie just as she was on her way to lunch. Skye grabbed a salad from the cafeteria, while Trixie fetched two sodas from the machine in the teachers’ lounge. They settled in the guidance office to eat and catch up.

“What did you think of that pageant last Saturday?” Trixie asked, biting into an Italian beef sandwich that she had brought from home.

“Interesting. But I hear this coming Saturday’s will be even more so.” Skye forked a piece of lettuce into her mouth. “It’s for the older girls. The one Lorelei would have competed in.”

“Mmm.” Trixie swallowed another huge bite. “Speaking of Lorelei, have you found out anything new?”

“Not really.” Skye was extremely tempted to tell Trixie about Lorelei’s pregnancy, but decided it wasn’t either ethical or smart to share that information—considering how Skye had come across it. “But that reminds me, I wanted to ask you about the cheerleader meeting last Wednesday, the day of Lorelei’s death.”

“We all got together to discuss replacing a girl who had moved.”

“Did you pick someone?”

“No, we couldn’t agree.” Trixie frowned. “We all have an equal vote, and it’s too much power for the girls to have.”

“I heard what happened to Frannie Ryan.” Skye was curious as to Trixie’s view of that incident.

“That was a disgrace. I’m going to change the selection process next year.” Trixie was silent as she crunched on potato chips. She finally asked, “What are you doing about it? The murder, I mean.”

“Wally’s blocking me, and Simon won’t help, so I’m talking to the kids and trying to find excuses to nose around.” Skye pushed away her barely eaten salad. The lettuce tasted slimy. “I need a reason to hang around Lorelei’s group on an informal basis.”

“Like cheerleading practice?” Trixie took a Ding Dong from her bag and peeled back the foil.

“Like cheerleading practice.” Skye eyed the chocolate cake and Trixie’s size-four figure. Life was not fair, Skye decided, as she settled for the saltines that had come with her salad. “Need an assistant coach?”

“Know anything about cheerleading?” Trixie licked frosting from her upper lip.

“Nope.”

“Perfect. We meet tomorrow after school.” Trixie got up and threw away her trash. “Wear sweats or a leotard.”

“Really?” Skye rose and dumped her garbage, too. “I have to dress? This sounds suspiciously like gym. I hated gym.”

“If you want to hang out with the girls and get them comfortable enough to talk in front of you, you’ll have to make the sacrifice.”

“Wonderful.” Skye thought of how attractive she looked in sweats. A leotard was out of the question.

“Deal with it,” Trixie said, and shot out the door.

Skye checked her watch. She had just enough time to talk with Homer before she ran home and changed for the wake. Charlie’s note had said it was being held from two to four and six to eight.

Homer was in his office surrounded by stacks of test papers. He waved Skye inside. “Yeah?”

“Just wanted to ask you about Lorelei’s funeral and wake. What is the school doing?”

Homer eyed her as if she were posing a trick question. “We sent flowers,” he answered cautiously.

“Good. But are we allowing students to leave school? Are we offering transportation to the funeral home?

“Well, I didn’t find out about the wake until late last night. The parents didn’t notify us. Surprise, surprise. So, we’ll let kids with notes from their parents go today.”

“How about if tomorrow we provide a bus to the funeral?” Skye held out her hand like a traffic cop. “There are a lot of good reasons to do this. For one, we can control the amount of time the kids are gone from school. Doing it my way, they’ll be gone for a couple of hours, max.”

“But more will go if we make it too convenient.”

“Maybe. Does it matter? Teachers can’t really move ahead in the curriculum anyway with half the kids gone.”

“Okay. You write the note and make sure it goes home with all the kids tonight. Anyone wanting to go to the funeral has to have it signed to get on the bus tomorrow.” Homer looked mournfully at the piles of work on his desk. “I’ve got to get these Iowa Achievement tests sorted and in the mail today.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Skye stood in the doorway. “I’ll give the letter to Opal to type, make copies, and hand them out. Then I’ve got to go home and change, if you want me to attend the wake this afternoon. It starts in less than forty-five minutes.”

Homer nodded, but didn’t look up from the instruction sheet he was reading.

Skye tugged on her skirt. The hem barely brushed the top of her knees. She hesitated in the funeral-home foyer halfway up the steps and stared at herself in the mirrored wall. The black suit jacket skimmed her hips, and the shorter hem showed off her shapely calves and ankles. She had vowed not to drape herself in yards of polyester and hide just because she weighed more than Cosmo said she should, but every once in a while she lost her nerve. Especially when she was fairly certain she’d have to face an old boyfriend or two before the day was over.

If she got really lucky, all three of her latest emotional disasters would show up today—the two who had recently become angry at her all over again and the third she hadn’t quite got around to formally breaking up with yet.

Clutching her tiny black handbag, Skye made herself walk through the double glass doors. The smell of flowers hit her full force, and she took a step backward, sneezing. Once she recovered, she signed the guest book and joined the short line of people waiting to pay their respects.

It was slightly after two, and the visitation had just begun. From her place in the back of the line, Skye studied the Ingels. Today Lorna looked every one of her fortysomething years. The faint lines that earlier had been well hidden by makeup now bracketed her mouth and furrowed her forehead. Her lips, no longer moist with lipstick, were cracked and dry. There could be no question that Lorna’s grief was genuine and devastating.

Allen stood next to his wife, sober in a charcoal gray Armani suit. His face revealed no emotion, but Skye noticed an occasional tic near his left eye and the constant clenching of his right fist.

Linette stood apart from both her parents and her sister’s casket, half-hidden by a huge floral arrangement. Skye was trying to interpret the ten-year-old’s expression when she noticed she was next in line.

“Mrs. Ingels, you have my deepest sympathy.”

Lorelei’s mother nodded, tears leaking from her red-rimmed eyes. “How could she do this to me?”

Skye thought fast. Was this the stage of grief where the survivor became angry at the one who died? “I’m sure she didn’t want to leave you.”

Before his wife could respond, Allen took Skye’s arm and propelled her down the line, saying, “Thank you for coming.”

Skye found herself facing Linette as the girl stepped deeper into the flowers. She tried smiling at the girl. Linette took another step back, a look of cold arrogance on her face.

If she ever decided to get her doctorate, Skye decided she’d use this family for her dissertation. Their reactions were totally out of the norm.

Skye looked around. Troy Yates was slouched on a chair in one corner. How convenient. She’d wanted to talk to him today at school, but hadn’t had time. “Hi.” Skye slid into the seat next to him.

Troy sat up straighter. “Hi.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Troy pulled at his necktie. “It’s just that people don’t really understand.”

“Oh?” Skye scooted closer so she could lower her voice. “In what way?”

“Lorelei and I had pretty much broken up. We just hadn’t told everyone yet. We were going to wait until after the prom.”

“Why?” Skye asked. “You both could certainly have found other dates.”

“She already had.”

“What?” Skye was confused.

Troy’s fair skin reddened. “Well, the thing was, she was already seeing someone, but he couldn’t take her to the prom because we were up for king and queen. You know, senior couple. Lorelei really wanted to win.”

“She told you she was dating some other guy and you still planned to take her to the prom? That seems above and beyond the call of niceness.”

The teen squirmed. “Well, ah, she never actually told me. Zoë let me in on the big secret.”

“Secret? Who was this guy?”

Troy shrugged and didn’t respond.

Skye could tell she’d never get an answer to that question, so she tried another. “When did you guys really stop being together?”

“Valentine’s Day.” Troy studied his hands. “I bought her a big heart-shaped box of candy, and she got real mad at me.”

Skye was confused. “Was she hoping for something else?”

“No, but she accused me of trying to make her fat, so no one else would want her.”

“That is one of life’s mysteries, you know,” Skye said, trying for some humor.

“What?”

“How a two-pound box of chocolates can make a woman gain five pounds.”

Troy didn’t smile back, and Skye quickly added, “Were you jealous that she cared if anyone else would want her?”

“Not then. A little, after Zoë told me about the other guy.”

“And you were still going to take her to the prom.”

Troy frowned. “We’d been together since eighth grade. I didn’t want to hurt her.”

Skye said good-bye to Troy and wandered to the other side of the room. Interesting. Troy could be the father, but the date of conception would have been close to the time they broke up.

If, that is, Troy was telling the truth.

CHAPTER 14

Mean with Envy

If not Troy, then who was the father of Lorelei’s baby? The new boyfriend? What was the big secret? Was he someone she couldn’t be seen with in public?

A commotion at the funeral-home door drew Skye’s attention away from her speculation. Standing just inside the room, arguing in whispers, were her twin cousins, Ginger and Gillian.

Skye moved toward them in time to hear Ginger say to Gillian, “I will not be nice to Lorna Ingels. You be a hypocrite if you want to, but I’m not doing it.”

“Hi, Skye.” Gillian acknowledged her cousin before tightening her grip on her twin’s arm. “Just say you’re sorry for her loss. You are sorry Lorelei is dead, right?”

“Hi, Gillian, Ginger,” Skye said softly, not wanting to interrupt their conversation.

“Hi, Skye,” Ginger echoed before a mutinous look descended on her face. “Of course I’m sorry. But that woman had Linette compete in a pageant three days after her other daughter was murdered. She’s no more in mourning than my dog is.”

“You’re probably right,” Gillian replied, guiding her twin toward the front of the visitation room, “but since when does Scumble River give points for sincerity?”

As her cousins moved off, Skye remained by the door pondering what she had just heard. Lorna and the whole pageant scene really caused some strong feelings among those involved.

The afternoon hours crawled by. As far as she could see, most of the people who came were older, and many seemed to have only distant connections with the family. They went through the line, and then stood at the back and chatted with each other, treating the wake like any other opportunity to socialize.

Troy and Zoë were the only two students present. He sat quietly in the back row, alternately studying the ceiling and his shoes. Zoë’s mother had a firm grip on her daughter’s arm as they occupied the third row without speaking.

It was a relief when the grandfather clock struck four and Skye could leave. So far she had been able to avoid Simon, and neither Wally nor Kent had put in an appearance. She had two hours until the next round.

The weather had grown colder while Skye was inside the funeral parlor. She hurried toward her car, flung herself inside, and backed the Chevy out of its space. She adjusted the instruments for heat and waited, anticipating a flood of warm air pouring out of the dashboard openings.

Nothing happened. She continued to drive, but only cold gusts emerged from the car’s vents. The air stream was still near freezing when Skye approached her driveway. Great. She’d have to find a mechanic who worked on old cars. Or she could mention it to her mom, and her dad would take care of it.

At least her house was toasty, she thought as she walked through her front door, smiling. Wait a minute. She hadn’t set the thermostat this high before she left. Someone had been here. A burglar or May? Skye voted for her mother.

How many times had she told her folks that the key she let them have was for emergency use only? Still, a tiny smile remained on Skye’s lips. Was that a roast she smelled?

Skye shared the beef dinner with Bingo as she admired her freshly cleaned house. She was fighting a losing battle— her need for independence versus her parents’ need to take care of her. The note May had left said it all: “I know Charlie is asking you to go to all the visitation hours today and the funeral tomorrow, so I went shopping from your list on the fridge, cleaned a little, and cooked. Hope you’re okay. Love, Mom.”

What seemed only seconds later, Skye was stretched out on her bed when the high-pitched beep of her alarm cut through her dream of the beach and a tall dark stranger. Groggily, she forced open one eye. Quarter to six. She had managed to squeeze in an hour of sleep. Time to freshen up and get back to Reid’s Funeral Home.

She dug out a black velvet-covered headband in an attempt to tame her chestnut curls. A quick dab of blush, some eyeshadow to highlight her best feature, her emerald green eyes, and she was ready to go. She certainly wasn’t looking her best, but at least she wouldn’t scare small children—she hoped.

A line had already formed when she pushed through the doors of the funeral home. Skye knew many if not all of the faces. Most were students and staff.

She made her way to a sofa situated off to the side of the row of folding chairs and prepared to intervene if anyone needed assistance. Simon was seated in the very back corner at a small desk. He appeared to be going through papers, but his sharp gaze swept the area every few minutes.

Everything was quiet. Skye watched Farrah Miles, Caresse Wren, and Zoë VanHorn go through the line. All three cheerleaders had tears running down their cheeks, but their mascara remained intact. Score one for waterproof makeup. They found chairs near the back, brought out mirrors, and began to chat as they repaired the nonexistent damage to their faces.

Next through were a group of teachers. Many of them had swollen eyes and sobbed audibly as they faced the coffin. Skye watched them, trying to gauge whether she could help comfort them.

One of the teachers approached her, and Skye steered the woman toward a small parlor off the main area, settling her into a chair. Nearly a half hour passed by the time Skye and the teacher finished talking.

After the woman left Skye headed back to the visitation room. The line now stretched out the door and contained many people she didn’t recognize. She settled back on what she now thought of as her sofa and crossed her legs.

Skye was watching the front, so she nearly missed an argument in the back corner, opposite where Simon had sat earlier. Her attention was finally caught by voices hissing at each other. Turning to look, Skye saw Kent Walker involved in a deep conversation with a woman she didn’t recognize.

Skye rose and strolled nonchalantly in that direction. She got close enough to hear the woman whisper, “You’re just lucky I’m not going to your principal. I know all about you and Lorna.”

Kent’s head came up and met Skye’s stare. A chill ran down her spine at the look of loathing he gave her. He grabbed the woman’s arm and urged her outside.

The evidence was piling up. Kent really had been having an affair with Lorelei’s mother. Skye wondered if he’d been sleeping with anyone else, and once again counted her blessings that none of his bedroom conquests had included her.

Skye moved to follow Kent and the woman, but a hand came down on her arm. She jumped.

Simon spoke before she could. “You’re awfully jittery lately. One might even think you were up to something you weren’t supposed to be.”

She shook off his hand and started after the other couple. He caught up with her in one easy stride. “Leave it alone.” He paused, and a look of distaste crept over his features as an unpleasant thought seemed to cross his mind. “Unless, of course, you’re jealous and intend to fight for your man.”

Skye wrinkled her nose. “That isn’t it. They’re arguing. I want to make sure the woman is okay.”

“She’ll be fine.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I sent Xavier out to patrol the grounds. He’ll break things up if they get out of hand.”

“How? Pardon me for stereotyping, but Xavier’s the personification of a ninety-pound weakling. What could he do?” Skye questioned.

“You of all people should know how dangerous it is to judge by appearances. Xavier is tough. He studied martial arts when he was a medic in Vietnam.”

“Oh.” For a moment Skye was caught without an answer. “What do you mean, me of all people?” Was he referring to her weight?

“A psychologist.” He raised a brow, and a tiny hint of sarcasm came through his voice.

“Oh, yeah.” Skye wasn’t sure how to break away, or if she really wanted to now.

They continued to stand close together. Not touching, not saying anything, until Skye noticed Simon’s eyes widen.

She turned to see what had stolen his attention from her, and murmured, “Oh, my.”

It was the Doozier family. Leading the group was the family patriarch, Earl. Tattoos covered most of his body; he usually wore only shorts so everyone could enjoy them. Today he had taken the seriousness of the occasion into consideration and wore a pair of tiger-striped sweatpants and a T-shirt with the saying: 24 HOURS IN A DAY . . . 24 BEERS IN A CASE . . . COINCIDENCE?

Following him was his wife, Glenda. Skye blinked. She could swear that the woman’s black halter jumpsuit was made of rubber. It caused her chalk-white skin to look corpselike. Her poorly dyed blond hair was arranged in an elaborately teased hairdo.

Two boys and a girl fidgeted next to the adults. The children’s sullen expressions matched Elvira’s, who brought up the rear.

“I should probably go do something about that.” Skye nodded toward the brood.

“What?” Simon asked. “They aren’t causing any problems.”

“No, I meant make sure they get through the line all right,” Skye hurried to explain. “I’m afraid the Ingels will hurt their feelings. Or that they’ll feel awkward. Or someone will make a remark.”

“Besides, you’re dying to find out what they’re doing here,” Simon said, cutting to the chase.

“I am a little curious,” Skye admitted, “but I really don’t want their feelings to be hurt. That family has helped me more than once.”

“So, go over there.”

“Well, here’s the tricky part.” Skye smoothed her jacket. “Ah, I’m on great terms with Earl and the children, but Glenda’s a little ticked at me.”

“Why?”

“When I first moved back to town, she and I had words on proper parenting.”

“At a school conference?”

“Not exactly,” Skye acknowledged. “At my brother’s hair salon. The little ones were throwing rocks at Vince’s glass sign, and I made them stop.”

“And?”

“And Glenda didn’t think I should have interfered. And some things were said.”

“Interesting dilemma.” A smile lurked at the corner of Simon’s lips.

“Oh, well. Maybe she won’t recognize me. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.” Skye moved off in their direction, muttering to herself, “Whatever she does to me I’m in the right place; I’m already at a funeral parlor.”

Skye approached Earl. “Hello, Mr. Doozier. Nice to see you again.”

The thin man smiled, revealing missing teeth. “Miz Denison. What you doing here?”

“Sometimes kids get upset at wakes, so the school asked me to hang around in case any of the students need help.” Skye slid a glance at the woman. “Hello, Mrs. Doozier.”

“Don’t think we met,” the blonde answered.

“Baby, this is the lady from the school that me and Junior helped when her car went in the river a while back,” Earl explained.

“Oh.” Glenda, losing interest, turned to stare at two women whose heads were bent close together as they gossiped in low voices and occasionally sneaked peeks at the Dooziers.

“How about you and your family?” Skye asked. “Did you know Lorelei or her folks?”

“Nah, nothing like that.” Earl pointed to Elvira, who was trying to ignore the whole situation. “You know Elvira here found the body. So it was only right we pay our last respects.”

“That’s very nice of you.” Skye patted his arm, then regretted the gesture. Touching the tattoos was like touching the scales of a snake. “How is Elvira related to you?” She worded the question carefully, well aware of the Doozier’s reputation for inbreeding. Often fathers, brothers, and uncles were all the same people in that family.

“She’s my youngest sister. Our folks done passed on, so she lives with us.”

They had almost reached the front of the line. Skye moved between the two adults, and when their turn came, she said, “Mr. and Mrs. Ingels, this is Mr. and Mrs. Doozier. Their sister is the one who found Lorelei and tried to get help for her.”

Earl pumped Allen Ingels’s hand. “Sorry ’bout your little girl. When they find out who did this to her, you need any help, you call me. I’ll bring my shotgun and my dog. We’ll get that son of a—”

“And this is Elvira Doozier,” Skye hurriedly interrupted, bringing her forward. “The girl we were talking about.”

As Elvira looked at the Ingels, her hostile, pierced, tattooed demeanor subtly softened. “I’m real sorry.”

Allen nodded and moved back half a step, subtly distancing himself from the group.

“Thank you.” Lorna took Elvira’s hand and gazed intently into her eyes, as if seeking the answer to an ancient mystery. “Are you happy?”

Skye wondered what Lorna meant. Did she think her daughter had committed suicide?

Elvira’s expression became uneasy. “Yes’m. Most of the time.” She withdrew her hand and backed away.

“Good.” After a moment Lorna said, “Thank you for coming.” She turned to the next people in line, her brittle control firmly back in place.

As the Dooziers and Skye moved on, Earl announced, “I gotta use the can before we go.”

“Me and the kids’ll be waiting in the Regal,” Glenda told her husband.

Earl nodded and went in search of relief.

Skye glanced at her watch. It was only seven-thirty. People were continuing to pour through the door. The scents of flowers, perfume, and sweat were closing up her sinuses. She needed a breath of fresh air.

Outside, the night was cool, and she wrapped her arms around herself as she gazed up at the moon. From where she stood on the sidewalk, she could hear the murmur of voices inside.

She was about to go back when Earl Doozier stepped through the doors. He had managed to spill water down his front, soaking the small potbelly that hung over his waistband.

He caught Skye staring at him and grinned. “When you’ve got a tool as good as mine, you have to build a shed over it.” He patted both his upper and lower bulges for emphasis.

Half of her wanted to laugh, but the other half fought for a more dignified response. Before she could react either way, Glenda appeared out of nowhere and grabbed Earl’s arm. “Too bad all that shade stunted your prize tool’s growth.”

Skye could hear the couple arguing as they walked to their car. She decided to return to the visitation, where it was relatively safe.

The line had finally stopped growing, and only a few stragglers remained. Skye glanced around. It was nearly eight, and there was no one left whom she knew. Time to retrieve her purse and go home.

She had left her handbag in the parlor off the visitation area. She made her way to the little room, but her purse wasn’t there.

Shit! Where could it be? Surely, no one would steal it during a wake. Maybe it had slipped. Skye got on her hands and knees, and crawled between the chair and sofa. Still no sign of her bag. Could it have been kicked behind the couch?

She inched toward the wall and spotted it wedged between a sofa leg and the wood molding. As she reached for the clutch, she heard voices. People were standing in the doorway and didn’t realize she was there.

Before she could speak, a voice she recognized as Mrs. VanHorn’s fake Southern drawl said, “We are not canceling Saturday’s pageant.”

Lorna Ingels answered, “We’ll see about that. I’ve made several calls, and everyone agrees the Miss Central Illinois contest should be eliminated this year, and the title awarded posthumously to Lorelei.”

“That’s a bunch of crap. No one wants that but you. It wouldn’t be fair to the other girls.”

“Especially Zoë, who would finally have a slim chance at a real title.” Venom oozed from Lorna’s words.

Skye decided to wait quietly rather than embarrass the two women and herself by revealing her presence.

“If we should cancel Miss Central Illinois out of respect, why was it okay for Linette to compete for Junior Miss Stanley County last weekend?” Priscilla asked belligerently.

“That was entirely different. It had nothing to do with Lorelei, and it wouldn’t have been fair to Linette to penalize her for her sister’s death,” Lorna replied smoothly.

“Well, it isn’t fair to all the girls who have been getting ready for the Miss Central Illinois pageant for months. Not to mention the money their parents have spent,” Priscilla retorted. “Anyway, they’ve never awarded an honorary crown in the history of the pageants, and no matter how many stupid calls you make, it isn’t going to happen now.”

“Never say never,” Lorna said, as Skye watched her feet move toward the door.

Priscilla followed. “What do you mean by that?”

“I have a call in to the governor,” Lorna announced.

“So?”

“Didn’t you know, dear? She’s Allen’s distant cousin.”

Priscilla’s reply was cut off as the woman moved away from the door. Skye crawled from her unintended hiding place, clutching her purse and thinking, Isn’t that an interesting tidbit?

CHAPTER 15

Gasp at Flaws

Skye rolled her shoulders as she supervised the loading of the bus that would take the students to Lorelei’s funeral. It had felt wonderful to get into the pool this morning before school, but after having missed a week’s worth of morning swims, her muscles were protesting. She squinted into the ten o’clock sun. Wednesday had dawned clear and warm, with predicted temperatures in the seventies. It was the nicest day they’d had so far that spring. Too bad they’d be spending it at the cemetery.

The kids were subdued as they climbed the bus steps and found seats. Skye’s gaze strayed to Troy, who had claimed the back bench. Zoë sat on his right and Farrah on his left. Both girls competed for his attention. Was he the father of Lorelei’s baby? He certainly would have had a lot to lose if she had lived and insisted on having the child. Would Notre Dame have honored Troy’s scholarship? It was a Catholic university. There might very well be a morals clause.

Rumor had it that Troy was desperate to get out of Scumble River, and Skye could certainly empathize with that desire. If he had been the father of Lorelei’s baby, and her family exerted enough pressure, he might have been stuck in his hated hometown forever. Maybe he made up the story about Lorelei’s other boyfriend.

“Ready to go?” The bus driver leaned through the open door and directed his question to Skye.

“Two of the chaperons aren’t here yet. We’ll wait a few minutes, then I’ll go look for them.”

“I got to be back for the kindergarten run at eleven-thirty.”

“Okay.” Skye went back to her musings, while keeping an eye on the school doors. Zoë and her mother had a lot of motive. She had never seen two more ruthless people. With Lorelei out of the way, Zoë could not only take over as “queen of the school,” but she could also win some real money on the pageant circuit.

The quiet spring morning was assaulted by the clamor of the bell announcing that second period had begun. Trixie and Kent hurried out of the school and toward the bus.

Kent gave a mock salute as he and Trixie mounted the steps.

Skye climbed aboard after them and settled next to Trixie, saying to the driver, “Okay, we can leave now.”

Kent had taken the empty seat next to Caresse, and soon the girl’s giggles rang through the nearly silent vehicle.

The teens remained quiet through the brief ceremony at the church. They filed off the bus at the cemetery without talking, and stood in a semicircle around the open tent that had been erected over the grave.

Skye stood between Justin and Frannie. Both adolescents’ presence worried her. While the boy’s attendance was most likely due to curiosity and a desire to miss class, much the same as many of the kids who were there, the girl’s participation was a little more ominous, considering her avowed hatred of Lorelei.

Justin said softly to Skye, “Did the copy of the autopsy give you any clues?”

Skye looked around uneasily. No one seemed to be paying attention to them. “We can’t talk about that here.”

The boy stiffened, his feelings obviously hurt. “Sure, just wondering.”

His ability to form relationships was so fragile that in spite of her better judgment, Skye told him, “You were a big help. But I want your promise you won’t ever copy someone’s private papers again.” She ignored the tiny voice of conscience that was calling her a hypocrite.

Justin ducked his head in what Skye hoped was a nod of agreement. She heard him mutter, “Too bad it didn’t include the tox screen.”

Skye shot him a censorious look before moving away.

Homer and Charlie, who had come by car, made their way over to where Skye was standing.

Charlie whispered in her ear, “Any leads?”

“I’ve gathered a lot of information,” she whispered back. “Lots of people with motives.”

“Good.” He gripped her hand. “Nothing that makes the school look bad, right?”

“No, not really, I guess.” Skye wondered if the school would look bad if it turned out that Lorelei’s boyfriend or best friend had killed her. Deep down, she was afraid the school would look bad whoever was found guilty, because the public would expect the school to have been clairvoyant, to have prevented Lorelei’s death no matter what.

Skye’s attention was drawn back to Frannie and Justin, who were whispering together. Frannie had a strange expression on her face. Skye thought the girl looked half scared, half satisfied.

Something Simon had said last night bubbled to the surface of Skye’s thoughts. If Frannie’s father, Xavier, had been a medic in the military, he probably knew about pharmaceuticals. Could Frannie have gotten her father talking and figured out what to give Lorelei to kill her? Or maybe Xavier got tired of the cheerleaders tormenting his daughter and took matters into his own hands.

The minister concluded the graveside ceremony by inviting everyone to say the Lord’s Prayer. As she murmured the words, Skye’s glance was drawn to Kent. He and Priscilla VanHorn stood some distance from the main crowd, and from the angry look on his face, Skye doubted they were praying.

She sighed. She knew she had been putting off talking to Kent. It would no doubt be awkward, especially since she had found out it was highly likely that Mrs. VanHorn’s allegations were true—he probably was sleeping with Lorna Ingels. But did that give him a motive to murder Lorelei?

People were filing past the casket. Lately it had become the custom to take a flower from one of the floral arrangements at a funeral as a keepsake. Most of the kids were behaving appropriately, and Skye was only half-aware of their movements when she spotted Justin Boward reaching again and again into a spray of pink roses. When he plucked out the sixth blossom, several adults started buzzing and pointing.

Homer grabbed Skye’s arm and hissed in her ear, “Stop that boy right now. Next thing we know all the kids’ll be stripping the grave of every last flower.”

She rolled her eyes but complied with the principal’s demand. Something that would seem unimportant to most people, like taking a few extra roses, was a capital offense within the school system.

Skye cut Justin out of the herd as quietly as a sheepdog separates a lamb from the flock.

When they were well away from the others, she said, “You’ll have to put those back. It’s inappropriate for you to have taken so many.”

The boy clutched the roses, reverting back to silence.

Skye took a breath and started again. “Maybe you didn’t know, but the custom is for everyone to take only one flower, as a remembrance.”

He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. Whatever I do is wrong.”

Skye felt her heart sink. It was one step forward with this kid and two steps back. What had happened in his short life that had so thoroughly stripped him of his self-esteem?

She led the boy farther from the others. “Now, I know that’s not true. But I also know that what I think doesn’t matter. It’s what you believe that counts.” She stole a look at his face. It had relaxed a little. “Something I try to remember when I have negative thoughts about myself is that it takes a long time to become the person we want to be. It’s not a road we can race down, but one we have to walk every step of the way.”

Justin nodded slightly. “Didn’t mean to do anything wrong.”

“I know that.”

He sniffed. “I saw everybody taking flowers, and my mom loves roses, and I just thought no one would miss a couple extra. She’s been real sad lately.”

“Okay, here’s what we do. Give me the flowers, and I’ll put them back. Then after school we’ll go and get some nice fresh ones at Stybr’s Florist. Okay?”

He nodded and thrust the bouquet into her arms. Skye walked back to the casket. Nearly everyone had left, heading back to town for the funeral luncheon. She quickly tucked the roses into one of the vases and hurried to the bus.

The students had already boarded, and their mood was now more relaxed. They had an air of having completed something, and now they were moving on.

Skye sat and listened as the bus inched its way forward, caught in a line of vehicles trying to exit the single-lane road.

One of the younger girls said to her seatmate, “Lorelei was so perfect. She was beautiful and smart and really, really nice to everyone. She reminded me of Princess Diana. Why do all the best people die?”

One of the senior girls turned and skewered the freshman with a look. “Lorelei was a real bitch. And it just galled me to see how she fooled all you children.”

Another senior girl turned in her seat and joined in. “Yeah, all you saw was the Miss Goody Two-shoes act. You didn’t see the dirty tricks she played to stay on top.”

The first senior said, “I was doing Humorous Interpretation for the speech team. I’d finaled both my freshman and sophomore years and was sure I could win my junior year, but Lorelei decided she wanted to do Humor, and Miss Cormorant just shoved me into Prose.”

“I know the feeling,” another girl added. “I had a part in the musical, and during one of the rehearsals my lines got some laughs, and Sleeping Beauty wasn’t the star for a minute and a half. Suddenly, my character had no dialogue.”

Skye let the words whirl around her. It seemed as if Lorelei had fooled the teachers and the younger students, but the girls in her own class had seen her inner self. Instead of being Sleeping Beauty, maybe Lorelei had been the evil fairy.

That explained the lack of true grief Skye had witnessed while working with Lorelei’s so-called closest friends. She had thought that the incident with Frannie not making cheerleading because of Lorelei was an isolated one, but it sounded like it was the norm.

The bus reached the main road and started to pick up speed. Skye twisted in her seat and tried to hear what Lorelei’s clique was saying. Zoë was draped over Troy, whispering in his ear. He wore a goofy grin. Skye caught his eye and frowned, shaking her head. He pulled slowly away and said something to the girl. She shot Skye a malevolent look. Skye would take odds they hadn’t been talking about Lorelei.

Caresse and Farrah were seated together, and Skye zeroed in on their conversation. “She was an angel. One time I broke my nail right before the big game, and she glued it back on for me. She even touched up the polish with her very own bottle.”

Farrah nodded. “I know what you mean. Around Christmas I was gaining a little weight and she helped me. She took me aside and told me no one likes fat girls, and I’d better start doing what she did or I’d be as big as Fat Frannie.”

Caresse looked horrified and asked in a breathless tone, “What did you do?”

“I did what she told me, of course.” The teen shuddered. “Can you imagine getting like Fat Frannie? She must take a size twelve, maybe even a fourteen.” Farrah patted her nonexistent hip. “I’m happy to say the Lorelei weight-loss plan put me right back into a size four.”

Caresse shook her head. “You’re satisfied with that?” She took out a mirror. “I’d just die if I got higher than a two.”

“I really don’t want to go to the funeral luncheon,” Skye repeated.

“Why not? You got to eat anyway, and it gives you a good excuse to psychoanalyze what people are saying,” Charlie said, leaning both hands on her desk.

Skye smiled to herself. No matter how many times she explained, Charlie never quite seemed to understand what a psychologist could and couldn’t do. He was convinced she was a cross between Houdini and Miss Marple.

She patted his hand. “You’re going anyway, so you nose around and tell me what you find out.”

“Do I look like a goddamn people person? No one’s going to tell me anything.”

Skye snorted. Yeah. Right. Like Charlie wasn’t the best manipulator in the state. “I’ve got so much work to do. I’ve got thirteen more kids to test at the elementary school, four at the middle school, and a couple here. And starting May first, I have eight annual reviews scheduled every day for the rest of the year. On top of that, there’s that crisis plan you’ve ordered me to develop.”

“If you run out of time, we’ll pay you to finish up during the summer.”

Skye paled at the threat to her summer vacation. “I’ve already agreed to work at the recreational club again this summer.”

“We’ll talk about that later,” Charlie hedged. “Right now we should get going, or we’ll miss most of the meal.”

“You go ahead. I’ll join you if I have time.”

“Skye, sweetheart, I’m saying I really would like you to come along.” A strange look crossed his face. “I’ve been having these pains.”

Skye flew around the desk and guided him to a chair. “Pains? Where? How long? I’ll call 911.”

Charlie’s blue eye’s started to twinkle. “In my butt, from people hounding me ever since you found Lorelei’s body.”

Skye insisted on driving her own car to the luncheon, hoping she could sneak out early and get some testing done at the grade school in the afternoon.

The Ingels were Lutheran, and since the Lutheran church had no hall, they’d been forced to make other arrangements. They had decided to have the funeral meal at the new country club, located halfway between the towns of Laurel and Scumble River.

As Skye turned into the long drive, she saw golfers on both sides. All were in carts. So much for golf as a chance to exercise. She wondered how come so many people weren’t working on a Wednesday in the middle of April. Then again, the lush, green gently rolling hills spoke of privilege and not working a nine-to-five kind of job.

She noticed several of the golfers had stopped to stare at her. What was going on? Had she forgotten to button something? Was her car on fire? Car, that explained it. A 1957 Chevrolet Bel Air at a country club probably stood out like a bikini at a church social. She fought the urge to sink below the dash and resolutely drove on.

The clubhouse was faced in cream-colored brick and sported huge floor-to-ceiling windows. Skye parked and hurried inside. To the right, the golf shop and offices ran the length of the building. The opposite wing was set up for the lunch.

The delicious scents of garlic and ginger wafted over Skye as she entered the banquet room. Against one wall was a salad bar, pasta and stir-fry station, and dessert table. Extremely unusual fare for a Scumble River funeral.

Skye wondered briefly what the Ingelses had done with all the food contributed by their neighbors and friends. Probably given it to the housekeeper.

Circular tables for eight were scattered around the room. Most people had already arrived, and many were grouped around the portable bar set up at the back of the room. Skye adjusted the sleeves of her navy blazer, made sure her white blouse was tucked in, and tugged down her skirt before joining the throng vying for a drink.

She was always a little nervous in this type of crowd and setting. It reminded her of the bittersweet time she’d spent in New Orleans, engaged to a wealthy young man, before her life collapsed and she found herself back in Scumble River.

A handsome man smiled at her as she joined the people milling around the room. “Hi, I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Troy Yates.”

For a second Skye was taken aback, but she quickly figured this man had to be the father of the Troy Yates she knew. “Hello, I’m Skye Denison. I believe I know your son. I’m the psychologist at the high school.”

“Right, right. You’ve talked to Troy Junior a couple of times since Lorelei died, right?”

“Yes.” Skye wanted to know what this guy did for a living and how he was connected to the Ingels. “He’s a nice boy. Very popular.”

A strange look crossed the senior Troy’s face. “Well, yes, in the sense that his peers like him, but he was faithful to Lorelei.”

“I’m sure he was.” Skye tucked that odd response away for later examination. “He and Lorelei must have made a striking couple.”

“Troy was devoted to Lorelei. He would have never even considered dating another girl.” A hand descended on the man’s shoulder, and he jumped.

Allen Ingels stood there with a forced smile on his lips. “Glad to hear it, Yates. Wouldn’t want to find out Junior had hurt Lorelei in any way.”

“No, of course not, Allen.” The senior Yates shook his head. “Troy would never do anything to cause Lorelei any pain.”

Except possibly make her pregnant, thought Skye.

After Allen Ingels moved on, Skye asked Troy Senior, “Are you and the Ingelses friends? Is that how the kids got together?”

“Well, ah, yes and no. I work for Allen. I’m the bank’s manager. Lorelei and Troy met at school.” The man’s handsome face was flushed. “Excuse me. Time for a refill.”

So, both Troy and his family had a lot to lose if Lorelei’s baby turned out to be his. Skye picked up a soft drink from a passing waiter’s tray and moved to another knot of people.

“Ms. Denison, nice to see you. I wanted to thank you for all your help when Cassie was attacked by that hellion.”

Cassie? Ah, she remembered her now. This was Mrs. Wren, the mother of the third-grade girl whose hair was cut off. “You’re more than welcome. Is Cassie alright now?”

“It was a tremendous loss, but your brother did a wonderful job. Luckily she has a classically beautiful face and can wear any hairstyle.” The woman leaned closer as if to impart a secret. “We decided to go with ringlets, and I think it’s going to work. Since all the girls have long straight hair, she stands out from the crowd.”

“I’m so glad.” Skye was never sure how parents would take things. A few were grateful for her assistance, but most resented the need for it. “I can’t imagine why the other girl thought it was okay to do what she did.”

Mrs. Wren leaned even closer. “It’s the mothers. They tell the daughters it’s okay to do anything to win the title, get the part, dance the lead.” She took a sip of her martini. “I’ve seriously considered taking both Cassie and Caresse out of the competition.”

“Really?”

“Yes, but I decided against it. I mean, why make my girls quit? Unlike many of the other children, they really have talent and a good chance to make it professionally.”

“I see your point,” Skye said. Every mother thought her child was special.

“Lorna Ingels is a good example of the type of mother I was talking about.” Mrs. Wren looked around, and must have decided it was safe to go on. “Lorelei was bad enough, but she had a soft spot and would at least help out her friends. That Linette is downright scary. She’ll do anything to get ahead. And you know, at her age it’s got to be the mother behind it.”

“Is Cassie in the pageants with Linette?” Skye fought to contain her excitement. This was important information.

“No, she didn’t like beauty pageants as much as dance, and her agent didn’t think they were all that advantageous, since she was already getting commercial spots,” Mrs. Wren bragged.

“So, what has Linette done to ensure that she wins?” Skye asked, getting back to the subject that most interested her.

“Mmm.” The woman narrowed her eyes. “Well, she spies on the other girls, then tells on them.”

“That must be pretty annoying.”

“And she steals parts of their costume or makeup or equipment.”

“Why doesn’t she get kicked out for that?” asked Skye.

“No one’s caught her so far, but we know she’s behind it.” Mrs. Wren took another slug of her drink. “Once, she passed out chocolates that had Ex-Lax mixed into them. Most of the girls had to miss portions of the pageant. Some even had accidents on stage. It was awful.”

“Surely she was disqualified that time.”

“Nope. She was smart enough to eat some herself and claimed the box of candy had been an anonymous gift.” The woman leaned even closer and a wave of gin breath washed over Skye. “But I noticed that Linette didn’t eat hers until after she had competed, so she didn’t miss any of the pageant.”

“That sounds pretty devious for a ten-year-old.” Skye backed a few feet away. “How did you decide it wasn’t her mother behind the sabotage?”

“Lorna usually had an alibi for the time the incidents took place.” The woman pursed her lips. “Of course, they probably work together.” Mrs. Wren finished her drink and looked toward the bar. “I need another. Excuse me.”

Skye spotted Charlie sitting at a table with some of his cronies. She was getting hungry, so she filled a plate from the food stations and brought it over to where they were seated.

The owner of the real-estate agency was speaking. “A murder in the town’s school is not good for property values. I haven’t sold one house since the Ingels girl was killed. You need to do something, Charlie.”

Mayor Clapp joined in. “Yeah, it isn’t a good image for this town. We pride ourself on having safe schools.”

Skye decided it was time to interrupt when Charlie’s face turned redder than his suspenders. “Hi. Mind if I join you?”

The men moved over to make room for her. An extra chair was snagged from an adjacent table.

As she seated herself, Charlie said, “What’s that stuff you’re eating?”

“Mixed green salad, angel hair pasta with sun-dried tomatoes and olive oil, and a vegetable and tofu stir-fry.” Skye paused with her fork halfway to her mouth. “Want some?”

“Hell, no,” Charlie bellowed. “I didn’t climb to the top of the food chain to be a vegetarian.”

“Eating a meatless meal every once in a while does not mean you’re a vegetarian,” Skye said, exasperated. “And being a vegetarian is not a contagious disease. Consuming a portion of tofu won’t make you allergic to steak.”

Charlie frowned and got up from the table. “Very funny. I’m getting some dessert. Unless they’ve done something weird to that, too.”

CHAPTER 16

If the Clue Fits

It was close to two-thirty before Skye was able to break away from the funeral lunch. She was already on her way to the grade school when she remembered her plan to attend cheerleading practice that afternoon. Looking down at her suit, she realized she needed to go home and change, again. Making an abrupt U-turn—not an easy maneuver in a car the size of Rhode Island—she turned toward her cottage.

After putting on black sweatpants and an orange University of Illinois T-shirt, Skye fed Bingo and headed to school. The dismissal bell was ringing when she arrived, which meant she had a few minutes before she needed to meet Trixie.

The main office was crowded and noisy with teachers and students getting ready to go home. Skye emptied her mailbox and ducked into the empty health room to skim her messages. Most were from parents or staff, and nothing was marked urgent. She’d return the calls tomorrow.

One slip of yellow paper caught her eye. It was from Thea, the daytime police dispatcher. What could she want?

Skye reached for the phone. “Thea? Hi, it’s Skye.”

“I can’t talk now. Call me back in ten minutes.”

“Thea, what’s going on?” Skye figured her mom had found out some important information on the murder and wanted Thea to tell her about it ASAP.

“Call me back,” Thea repeated.

“Okay. Look, Thea, sorry I can’t call back then, because I’ll be coaching the cheerleaders.” Skye spoke quickly, sure Thea was about to hang up. “Tell Mom I’ll stop by after practice.”

“No—” Thea started to speak. “Sorry, got to go. Bye.”

That had been weird. Skye chewed on her lower lip. What was up with Thea? She’d stop by the station after practice and find out. Right now it was time to learn some new cheers.

She found Trixie and her merry band of cheerleaders in the girl’s locker room. “Hi.”

“Hi, we’ll be out in a minute. The girls are just changing.” Trixie was dressed in a plain white leotard and sweatpants. “Let’s wait in the gym. The process takes a while.”

The two women settled themselves on a bleacher.

Skye asked, “How’s Owen doing?”

The question about her husband brought a scowl to Trixie’s face. “How would I know? It’s spring. He’s getting the machinery and fields ready for planting. He’s up before dawn and doesn’t drag his butt home until after dark. The only way I know he’s still living in the house is that the dishes of food I leave in the oven are empty when I come back.”

“Yeah, it’s a tough time of year. Dad and my uncles are the same way.”

“I’m beginning to think there isn’t a good time of year for farmers. Owen was always a hard worker, but now that we—and the bank—own the land, he’s obsessive.” Trixie popped off the bench.

“He’ll be better in a month or so,” Skye said, following her.

“I doubt it. Hey, did you hear this joke? How many men does it take to screw in a lightbulb? One. He just holds it up there and waits for the world to revolve around him.” Trixie stuck her head in the locker room. “Five-minute warning.”

Skye was still snickering as the cheerleading squad filed out. They wore warm-up suits of silver and black, and carried matching pom-poms. The back of each jacket was embroidered with a black widow spider.

Skye stiffened. The pom-poms. It wasn’t a piece of tinsel that Wally had found on the gym floor. It was a strand from a pom-pom. Had it been there from the last cheerleaders’ practice? Or had it been clinging to the clothes of the killer?

Trixie’s voice interrupted Skye’s thoughts. “Most of you know Ms. Denison, the school psychologist. She’s going to help me out today.”

The nine girls started talking.

“Quiet.” Trixie continued, “I’ll take the junior varsity and Ms. Denison will take the senior squad.”

Skye grabbed Trixie’s arm and whispered fiercely in her ear, “I don’t know what to do.”

Sotto voce, Trixie said, “Just have them run through their routines.”

“I don’t know their routines. I was never a cheerleader.”

Trixie shrugged. “Have them do cheers one, five, seven, and ten. Watch their timing, their smiles, their voice levels. Just have them do it again and again until it looks perfect.”

Skye took the scrunchie from her wrist and put her hair into a ponytail. She was already starting to sweat.

Her squad, which consisted of Zoë, Caresse, Farrah, and a raven-haired girl she didn’t know, had gathered at the end of the gym nearest the stage. They were doing stretches and talking.

Skye sat on the steps to the stage and listened. Zoë was saying to the unknown teen, “Boy, Tara, you’ve really missed it. Why didn’t you go to the funeral today?”

Tara answered, “Hey, I just got back into town at noon. I only came to school at all so I could come to practice.”

Farrah joined them. “How was California?”

“Wonderful.”

“I can’t believe your parents let you take two weeks off of school to go on vacation with them,” Caresse interjected.

“They don’t like going during the regular spring break. Too many college kids, and the prices are all doubled,” Tara said, then lowered her voice. “Plus, Dad had a job interview, but no one is supposed to know. He doesn’t like the way things are going at the bank.”

Skye perked up. Something funny at the bank. Could Charlie be right about Allen Ingels being involved in something fishy?

Caresse, obviously not interested in something as mundane as jobs, asked, “Did you meet any movie stars?”

Skye got up from her perch. If the teens wouldn’t talk about anything interesting, they’d have to practice. “Okay, girls, please take your positions for cheer number one.”

“Aren’t we going to elect a new captain?” Caresse asked.

“I’ll ask Mrs. Frayne about that later,” Skye answered.

Zoë put her hands on her hips. “I should be the captain. I got the most votes after Lorelei.”

“I’m sure Mrs. Frayne will do what’s fair.”

Zoë shot Skye a poisonous look. They practiced for half an hour, then took a break. The girls dug out water bottles and towels from their tote bags. Trixie and Skye sat on the bleachers and supervised.

Skye explained to Trixie Zoë’s concern over who would be captain. Trixie answered, “We need to hold tryouts for two new members of the squad anyway, and I’m not electing a new captain until we have a full team.”

“Zoë seems certain she’ll be it.” Skye kept one ear tuned to the girls, but they were discussing prom dresses, not Lorelei.

“She may. Most of these girls are fairly impressed by the superficial.”

“Well, to be fair, most teens are. It’s one of those lessons they have to learn before becoming grown-ups.” Skye paused. “What worries me after meeting their moms is that they don’t have good role models at home.”

“Are you going to the pageant Saturday?” Trixie asked, bringing up a tangential subject.

“I want to, but I haven’t thought of a good reason to be there.”

“No more convenient cousins, huh?” Trixie teased.

“No. None of my relatives have girls entered in the Miss Central Illinois contest. I asked Gillian if she thought I could get away with just hanging around backstage on my own, and she said the security guards would throw me out.”

“Sounds like you’ll have to just go sit in the audience.”

“I suppose. You want to come along?”

“Love to, but my in-laws are spending the weekend.”

“Maybe Mom’s not working,” Skye said. “She’d probably enjoy going.”

Trixie unfolded herself from the bleachers and stood. “Okay, girls, let’s give it another half hour.”

Skye moved off to watch her squad.

After the girls finished and returned to the locker room to change, Trixie said to Skye, “Now’s the time to eavesdrop. All that physical activity really gets them going.”

“I hate to go in there while they’re showering and dressing. That was one of my major gripes about PE—being watched by a fully dressed adult while I was naked.” Skye shuddered. “I swear Miss Lake was a ghoul or something. She was so grotesque.”

“Oh, I remember her,” Trixie replied. “That was one of the good things about moving. My new PE teacher sat in her office and monitored us by how loud we got.” Trixie grinned. “It was the quietest locker room I’ve ever been in.” She paused for effect. “Which is how I discovered if you sit by the vent in the PE office, you can hear just about everything that’s said in the locker room.”

“Cool.” Skye headed in that direction. “Do the girls know?”

“No.”

Skye settled into the office chair she had positioned next to the vent and listened, resolving to forget immediately anything she heard that wasn’t relevant to Lorelei’s death.

At first the girls chatted about clothes, makeup, and music, but finally Skye heard: “I can’t believe none of the adults have caught on that Lorelei was sleeping with a teacher.”

“You mean . . . ?” This voice was too low for Skye to hear the rest of what was said.

“No, she means . . .” a different girl whispered, and Skye missed who they were talking about.

The shower came on and Skye couldn’t hear anymore. She was half out of the chair, trying to get closer to the vent, when the door slammed open. The glass rattled as the frame banged into the wall. Skye’s heart skipped a beat, and her breath caught in her lungs. Her eyes widened as Wally strode into the office, a pained expression on his face. He spoke without inflection. “Get up.”

She rose as if in a trance. The pulse in her neck felt as if it were beating at ten times the normal rate. “Wha—?”

He gently swung her around and cuffed her before she could complete the word. Then he spoke the dreaded words, “Skye Denison, you’re under arrest for theft. You have the right to remain silent.”

Part of her listened to Wally recite the rights that were familiar to anyone who watched TV cop shows, while the other part noticed that Trixie had rounded up the girls and was leading them more than a gossip’s length away.

“Wally, are you crazy? How can you do this to me? What’s going on?” Skye protested.

The chief ignored her questions, marching her out the side door and into the back of his squad car. She wondered how many people were watching and felt her chest tightening. This was humiliating. He buckled her into the seat belt and got into the front seat. She leaned as far forward as she could and tried again to ask what was going on.

He cut her off. “We’ll talk at the station.”

What had she done? The short ride was excruciating. What was happening? Her emotions ranged from outrage to fear, and back again.

Wally parked the squad car in the police garage and after unbuckling the seat belt, eased her from the vehicle. He remained silent. Sheer black fright swept her as he marched her through the station.

He grunted to the dispatcher as they passed by. “Call the county jail for a matron.”

He deposited her in the coffee/interrogation room and locked the door behind him. Icy fear twisted around her heart. She had never seen Wally this way. And to drag her out of school in handcuffs—this was bad, this was very bad. Skye tried to retrieve the anger she had initially felt over her treatment, but she was too scared.

Then it dawned on her. The dispatcher was some woman she didn’t know. Where was her mother? She was supposed to be working. Why had they gotten rid of May? That frightened her most of all.

Finally, she forced herself to focus. What did they think she’d done? Theft. What had been stolen? Should she call a lawyer?

After what felt to Skye like the longest wait in her life, Wally walked back into the room. He motioned for her to stand, and directing her with a hand on her upper arm, led her up the stairs and into his office. The decor had not improved since her last visit. It was still drab with faded blue linoleum, a metal desk, and vinyl-covered chairs. The smell of stale tobacco was finally fading, but even after several years of a smokeless occupant, traces lingered. A silent matron sat in a corner with a notepad.

Wally and Skye both settled into chairs. By this point, Skye was beginning to feel numb.

The chief flipped open a file and said, “A theft was reported this afternoon.”

“And you’re accusing me?”

“That’s right. You’re my primary suspect.” Wally spoke like a machine, and he looked as if he had a migraine.

“This is ridiculous,” sputtered Skye.

“It’s a serious crime.”

“Oh, my God.” Skye was beginning to feel nauseous. “I’d better call my attorney.”

The chief nodded. “That might be a good idea. But if you do, we have to sit here until she arrives. In fact, you could end up in jail, waiting to hear about bonds and things like that once you get a lawyer involved.”

Could he really do that? Skye felt a shiver of panic run up her back. “But I haven’t done anything!” She fought to calm down. “Why do you suspect me?”

“Because the stolen object is something others would have limited interest in.”

She searched anxiously for the meaning behind his words. “What was stolen? What would only I be interested in?”

“Your innocent act is really good,” Wally said disdainfully. “You know what was taken.”

“No, no I don’t,” Skye replied in a small, frightened voice. “What was it?”

“A copy of Lorelei Ingels’s tox report was stolen from the coroner’s mail today.” The chief’s lip curled. “Simon Reid returned to the funeral home after Lorelei Ingels’s services at approximately twelve-thirty. He retrieved his mail from the box at that time and glanced through the pile, noting it contained an envelope from the forensics lab. He put the mail on his desk and went about his business. At approximately two o’clock he went to get the envelope. It was gone. After questioning his assistant and calling the lab, he phoned me.”

Skye wondered if Simon had mentioned her midnight adventure at his funeral home and decided she’d better act as if he hadn’t. “That’s it? You’re accusing me of this crime just because I had motive? Others have motive, too, you know. Lorelei’s killer for instance.”

Wally’s sighed. “We do have other evidence.”

Skye felt a flicker of apprehension. “What?”

“A witness driving by saw a female of your general build, with brown wavy hair, coming out of the funeral home at close to one o’clock this afternoon.”

“What do you mean, my ‘general build’?”

Wally’s eyes dropped. “Not thin.”

“Fat.”

“That wasn’t what the woman said.” Wally didn’t look up.

This seemed to embarrass him, but she wasn’t about to let the matter pass. “What exactly did she say?”

“She said she saw a big girl coming out of the funeral home.”

“She used the word ‘girl’?”

He consulted his notes. “Yeah, but the lady was about ninety. Anyone under sixty would be a girl to her.”

“I see. And she said brown hair?” Skye asked.

The chief nodded.

“Well, I can see you have never really looked at me. I have chestnut-colored hair.”

“Look, try to wiggle out of this any way you can, but the description fits you.” Wally crossed his arms.

Skye straightened her spine and assumed a dignified pose. “Perhaps, but you said the report was stolen between twelve-thirty and two o’clock. Probably closest to one o’clock.”

“Yes.”

“I have an alibi for those times.” Skye took her first deep breath since he’d accused her of the crime. “I was at the Thistle Creek Country Club for Lorelei’s funeral lunch. Several parents spoke to me, as did Charlie.”

Diverse emotions battled for prominence on the chief’s face—relief among them. “Give me those names.”

After she listed everyone she could remember speaking to, Wally said to the matron, “Escort her to the coffee room. Do not let her talk to anyone, including yourself.”

Skye’s relief was so great she felt a silly hysteria creeping over her. If her hands hadn’t still been cuffed, she would’ve saluted Wally. “Yes, sir.”

In the other room she sat staring at the coffeemaker and the soda-pop machine. Who did steal that report? She prayed it wasn’t Justin. If he did it, she was morally to blame. But if the witness was right, it couldn’t have been the boy. Who else would want the tox report—aside from the murderer, that is?

The dispatcher’s voice penetrated Skye’s thoughts. “The chief says to take the cuffs off of her and bring her back upstairs.”

Wally was slouched back in his chair, looking relaxed, when she entered his domain. He spoke to the matron. “Thanks for your help. You can go now.”

Skye fought to keep her voice normal. “So, do my alibis check out?” She wasn’t sure if he was in a better mood because he had cleared her or because he had found more reason to think she was guilty.

“Yes, lucky for you, you and your car seem to be quite memorable.”

“Can I go?” Skye asked, rubbing her wrists.

“Yes.” Wally leaned forward, appearing a little less confident. “Look, I know you’ve probably been snoo—investigating, so since I was wrong about you stealing the tox report, I’m going to give you one ‘get out of jail free’ card.”

“What are you talking about?”

“This is your chance to fill me in on anything you’ve discovered that you think I should know, and it’s your chance to ask me some questions.”

She thought quickly. “In other words, you have diddlysquat on the investigation, and you want to see if I can give you a lead.”

He retained his newfound affability, but there was a distinct hardening of his eyes. “If that’s how you want to interpret my generous gesture, you’re free to leave.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Skye hated having to back down. She knew she was right about his motives, but May had taught her a long time ago not to bite off her nose to spite her face. Besides, Wally had just screwed up royally, and she wasn’t about to let him forget it. She smiled and said, “Here’s what I want: For every piece of information I give you, you answer a question for me. Deal?”

He nodded.

“Also, you call Homer and the superintendent, and tell them I’ve been completely cleared.”

He nodded again.

“Okay. Let’s see, what have I found out? One, Lorelei was far from the saint the teachers seem to think she was. Many students are not sad that she’s gone.”

“Anyone in particular?”

Skye frowned. She had to separate what the teens had told her during counseling, which she couldn’t reveal, from what she had overheard. “Zoë VanHorn benefits greatly from Lorelei’s death.” She couldn’t mention Frannie, as her revelation had been with the expectation of confidentiality. And she couldn’t mention Troy because she wasn’t supposed to know of Lorelei’s pregnancy.

“Interesting.” The chief made a note. “What’s your first question?”

“Were you ever allowed to search Lorelei’s room?”

“No, we’re still trying to get a warrant.”

“Okay, info number two. Mrs. Ingels and Linette both have reputations for being willing to do anything to win a beauty pageant.” Skye crossed her legs.

“That has no bearing on Lorelei’s murder. No question for you.”

Her lips thinned. “Be that way. How about Mrs. VanHorn? She’s bound and determined to have Zoë take over everything that Lorelei had. I’ve heard her threatening the director of the musical and Mrs. Ingels. And you may not realize how much money is involved with the pageants those girls compete in.”

“I’ll accept that as relevant. What’s your second question?”

“Have you searched Lorelei’s school locker?”

The chief sighed. “No, we’re still waiting for a warrant for that, too.”

“Third, I overheard a bunch of Lorelei’s closest girl-friends talking about the teacher she was sleeping with. I didn’t get a name because you arrested me at just that moment.”

“We didn’t have any hint of that.” Wally looked a little sheepish. “Too bad you didn’t hear who it was.”

“Yeah.” Skye decided it wasn’t a good idea to pursue that line of thought. “There are only so many male teachers, which narrows it down.” Skye paused, remembering what the little girl who cut off the other kid’s braid had said. “Or, maybe the teachers weren’t necessarily male, and not necessarily from the school. She had a lot of dance, voice, and drama teachers, too.”

“Very interesting. Question three?”

“How are people’s alibis holding up?”

“Without the results of the tox screen, we haven’t been sure how long whatever she was given takes to work. But according to the medical examiner, she could have been given the doctored drink at any time and consumed it hours later. That means no one has an alibi.”

Skye had one more question, but couldn’t think of anything else to trade. She tried passing speculation as information. “Last, the Ingels are a strange family. The little sister is spooky. She reminds me of the girl in that movie, The Bad Seed.”

“You think the little girl might have killed her sister?”

“No.” What she really wondered was if Mr. Ingels had been molesting Lorelei and then turned to Linette. But it would be irresponsible for her to suggest such a possibility without some evidence. “But maybe her parents think so. Maybe that’s why they’re fighting so hard for you not to search Lorelei’s room. Maybe they’re afraid there’s some proof.” Or maybe Mr. Ingels was hiding his own sins.

“Interesting, but pure conjecture. No question.”

“Okay.” Skye suddenly remembered her discovery during cheerleading practice. “How about this? That piece of tinsel you found in the gym the day Lorelei died—it’s probably part of a pom-pom.”

Wally made a note. “Thanks. Next question?”

“Did you ever find out what the bottle with the pill fragments originally contained?”

“No, we’ve looked in all the stores in Scumble River, Clay City, Brooklyn, and even Laurel. Nothing matches.” The chief stood. “I’m sending someone to Kankakee tomorrow.”

Skye got up, too. “Good luck finding out who stole the report. I assume another is being mailed—as we speak.”

“No. I just made Simon a copy of the one I received. The lab sends the reports to both of us.”

Damn! If she had known that, she could have used one of her questions to get the results of the tox screen. She tried the casual approach. “What were the results?”

The chief smiled, not fooled for a moment. “Sorry, you’ve used up all your questions for today.”

She didn’t bother to suppress her loud groan. Oh well, maybe his victory would improve their relationship.

CHAPTER 17

Keep a Watchful Lie

Considering everything, Skye felt surprisingly pleased as she went down the police-station stairs. True, being arrested had been a terrifying and humiliating experience, but now she and the chief were even. How could he remain ticked off at her after he had wrongly accused her of committing a crime? To add to her sense of well-being, she had been able to share her information with Wally, so he couldn’t accuse her later of hiding evidence, plus she’d gotten answers to some of her questions. Too bad she messed up and didn’t ask about the tox-screen results. But all in all, not a bad few hours’ work. Good thing she tended to see the glass as half-full and not half-empty.

She glanced at her watch. Past seven. Maybe she should have suggested to Wally that they get something to eat. She’d check with the dispatcher to see what time he went off duty when she asked about her mother’s whereabouts.

Almost whistling, she pushed open the dispatch door and smiled at the unfamiliar woman sitting behind the radio panel. “Hi, I’m Skye Denison, May’s daughter. I thought she was on duty tonight. Do you know what happened?”

“No, they don’t tell us part-timers much. Just got a call about three to come in.” The woman indicated the phone. “Want to call your mama?”

“Thanks.” As she dialed, Skye asked, “Do you know when the chief gets off work?”

The dispatcher started to answer, but her radio blared to life and she held up a finger indicating just a minute.

Meanwhile, Skye’s call went through. “Mom, why aren’t you working?”

“Hello to you too,” May said. “I got a call this afternoon saying the schedule had been screwed up, and I wasn’t on until tomorrow. Why?”

Interesting. Obviously Wally had finagled to keep May off-site. He’d learned something since the last time he had dealt with their family, when he had tried to interrogate her brother, and Skye and her mother had foiled his scheme by getting a lawyer there pronto.

Skye told May what had happened. Her mother was not amused, and Skye almost pitied Wally. A verbal bloodbath would almost certainly take place tomorrow afternoon when May came on duty. Before hanging up she invited May to go with her to the pageant on Saturday. May said she’d consider it.

As Skye finished her call, the dispatcher asked, “You were asking about the chief?”

“Right.”

“I think he was supposed to be out of here a half hour ago.” The woman pointed to the window that opened onto the waiting area. “That lady’s been waiting at least that long for him.”

Skye felt a twinge in her chest as she stared at the person the dispatcher indicated. Seated on the vinyl sofa was Abby Fleming—school nurse, Vince’s ex-girlfriend, and one of the most beautiful women in Scumble River.

It had been a long day. Skye resisted the desire to tell Charlie about her false arrest and have him yell at the chief, but she did phone Trixie. She was the one person who would listen to her woes without trying to fix them.

Toward the end of their conversation, Skye tried to be magnanimous, and said, “Well, maybe Wally has learned something from all this. Now he’ll have to admit how easy it is to do something against your common sense in the heat of an investigation.”

Trixie wasn’t convinced. “Men always think what they do is fine, but heaven forbid us women make mistakes.”

“I think it’s a sign of progress that he’s dating again,” Skye commented, closing her eyes in pain as she forced herself to utter the words.

Trixie snorted. “A hard-on does not count as personal growth.”

Trust Trixie to get to the heart of the matter. Skye laughed so loud she scared Bingo, who hid under the bed for twenty minutes after she hung up.

Sleep came in snatches, punctuated by horrible dreams. Finally, at five, she gave up and got out of bed. Her head felt fuzzy, and it took an effort to walk across the room. She dug through her dresser drawer for her swimsuit and pulled it on.

After packing what she would need to wear for the school day, and feeding the cat, she slid into the Bel Air. The aqua car made her feel as if she should be wearing a formal gown and tiara, and waving to the crowd along a parade route.

Skye tried to swim three or four mornings a week, but the Lorelei crisis had interrupted her routine. When it was cold she swam at the high school before the day started. In the summer she used the Scumble River recreational club, a lake formed from a reclaimed coal mine.

Today she was earlier than usual and felt a chill run up her spine as she entered the empty building. There hadn’t been a single car in the lot—even the janitor hadn’t arrived yet.

A few years ago, when the district received some money from a neighboring nuclear power plant, they added a pool to one side of the gym. Instead of using the funds for new books or more teachers, the school board had been hoodwinked by a fast-talking salesman and a group of parents with their own agendas. It was the one time in anyone’s memory that the board had voted against Charlie. Allen Ingels had supported the pool. Because of this, Skye always had mixed feelings when she used the facility.

The only entrance to the pool was through the locker rooms. Today she slowed as she entered the girls’ side, daunted by the lingering memory of being dragged out in handcuffs. Her face reddened, and she cringed at the thought that she would be the focus of gossip du jour.

A picture on one of the cheerleader’s lockers distracted her. Skye leaned in for a better look. It was a head shot of a girl, presumably the locker’s owner. Skye wondered what that was all about. She’d have to ask Trixie.

The scent of chlorine overpowered the smell of sweat as Skye unlocked the door to the pool. Dropping her belongings on a chair, she eased out of the sweat suit she wore over her maillot and slipped into the water. The cool liquid washed her cares away.

She knew she shouldn’t swim alone, which is why she didn’t dive or go into the deeper areas. Instead she swam laps until she was tired, then floated on her back.

A second after she heard a splash, she felt a wave. She was struggling to stand when a blond head popped up beside her.

“Kent! You scared me to death. What are you doing here?” She treaded water as she tried to move back into a shallower area.

His smile appeared forced. “Long time, no see. I thought perhaps you were avoiding me. So when I noticed your car, and remembered you mentioning swimming in the morning, I decided to join you. Hope I’m not intruding.”

You just happened to have a bathing suit in your car? Right. As to his intruding, this wasn’t the time or the place to tell Kent Walker what she really thought of him.

“I guess we’ve both been distracted.” Kent ran his hand up and down her arm.

She let the water move her out of his reach. “Every time I’ve seen you, it seems Priscilla VanHorn has been with you. Or some other female parent.”

“I never would have thought you were the jealous type.” His voice held a hint of smugness.

“I’m full of surprises.” And you’re overdue for one of them. Skye moved away even farther from him. “I want to do a few more laps.”

As she swam, she considered the situation. It was time to tell Kent they were finished, that she knew about Lorna. But before she did, she had a few questions for him regarding Lorelei’s death and his affair with her mother.

Using the ladder, she climbed out of the pool. She had always lacked the upper body strength to boost herself up on the side using only her arms.

After gathering her stuff, she stood at the edge, and said, “Come for dinner tonight and we’ll talk things over.” She forced herself to sound friendly. Her plan was to lull him into a false sense of security before she interrogated him.

Kent swam over to the side. “Sorry. I’m tied up tonight and tomorrow with rehearsals for Sleeping Beauty. How about Saturday?”

“I’m going to the Miss Central Illinois pageant with my mom on Saturday. How about Sunday at six?”

“Six, Sunday night, sounds good. See you then.” It would be a dinner Kent would not soon forget. Surprisingly, Skye hadn’t felt the betrayal she would have expected from finding out the man she was dating was sleeping with a married woman. What she felt was stone-cold anger. Kent Walker was going to pay.

While Skye showered, she thought about Lorelei’s murder. She finally had some facts now that she had seen the autopsy report and talked to Wally. The teen had been given a bottle of something that contained crushed pills of some sort, which seemed to have caused her death. Two things Skye needed to know: Who gave Lorelei that drink, and what type of pills were they?

Finding out what that bottle originally contained might help. Sometime over the weekend she would drive to Bolingbrook and visit the Meijer Superstore. If that megamart didn’t have the brand, no one would.

She also wanted to take a look at the school’s visitors’ sign-in sheet. Odds were that Wally had already checked it out, but she might spot something he hadn’t noticed. Not that she thought a murderer would voluntarily comply with school policy, but signing in was one rule that the secretary strictly enforced. Opal had been known to chase people down the hall if they failed to stop in the office and leave their signatures.

Skye continued mulling over the murder as she finished applying her makeup and stepped into her dress. What else was she missing? There was no lack of motives. Fear of what Lorelei’s pregnancy would reveal or require. Jealousy of what Lorelei had and others wanted. Hatred for things Lorelei had done.

But how could Skye find out whose motive was the strongest? A child’s room could tell you a lot, but then, so could her locker. There was no way to search Lorelei’s room, but getting a peek at her locker should be a piece of cake.

Skye slid on a pair of pumps and grabbed her tote bag. School would start in ten minutes, and she wanted to be in the main office when it did.

On her way, she hurriedly deposited her belongings in the guidance room. She had just greeted Opal when the first bell rang. Immediately the poor secretary became inundated with students. They swarmed the counter while the harried woman wrote passes, collected money, and checked permission slips.

The staff lined up to empty their mailboxes, photocopy one last paper, and look something up in the files. Amid this confusion, no one noticed Skye slide the master key to the lockers into her pocket. She’d be fine unless some kid couldn’t get his door open and Opal tried to find the key. But it was April, and even those who were not the sharpest pencil in the cup should remember their combinations by now. Skye headed nonchalantly back to her room. All she needed was to get into the locker banks at a time when the hallways were empty. How difficult could that be?

“Ms. Denison, Ms. Denison. Do you have a moment?”

Skye jerked back from Lorelei’s locker and turned to face the art teacher. “Why, of course, Ms. Lowe. I was, ah . . . just looking for my earring. I dropped it this morning.” Skye’s hand went to her ear and she palmed the pearl stud she wore.

“I’ll help you look.”

“No, that’s okay. I can do it later. What did you want to see me about?”

The art teacher fiddled with a stack of papers she held. “I’d like you to take a look at some drawings that disturb me.”

“Sure.” The woman looked as if she had just stepped out of Glamour. Skye had to fight the urge to tug at her skirt and check her hair.

In the art room, the teacher spread out six large sheets of paper. “I asked the kids to take a word as their trademark, and use it in a logo.”

“Wow, what a neat idea. Ever since I started working here I’ve admired what you have the kids do.”

“Thanks.” The art teacher brushed an imaginary fleck from her red designer suit. “I was trained in New York.”

Before she could stop herself, Skye blurted, “How did you end up in Scumble River?”

The woman smiled enigmatically. “If rumors are true, you and I might have taken similar routes.” Tapping a picture with a polished red nail, the art teacher continued, “Do you find these at all disturbing?”

Skye leaned in for a closer look. Most were obvious in their attempt to be shocking. The kids had drawn weapons, people exploding, and the occasional swastika, but one picture in particular seemed different, more unsettling.

The artist had taken the word “self” and put it in front of a mirror. The original “self” was colored in pretty pastels and had flowers and hearts intertwined with the letters. The reflected word was done in thick black marker. Jagged pieces had broken off the letters, and drops of crimson were splattered on the mirror surface.

“The others are fairly typical for certain adolescent types,” Skye said, “but who did this one?”

The teacher turned the paper over and peeled away a flap. “I have the kids cover their names, so my grading is not tainted by my personal opinion of that student.”

“That’s a great idea.” Skye was sincere in her praise, but anxious to know the identity of the anguished artist.

“Lorelei Ingels,” the woman read, than pressed her hand to her chest. “Oh, my. Maybe if I had graded these earlier, Lorelei would be alive today.”

“No,” Skye said sharply. “That’s not how it works. Besides, Lorelei did not commit suicide, she was murdered.”

“Right. I forgot for a moment.”

“Could I borrow this for a while? I’ll try making a copy, and then I’d like to show it to the police.”

“Sure. Thanks for looking at them.” Ms. Lowe opened her door just as the bell rang.

Skye glanced at the clock in the guidance office. Nearly time for the dismissal bell, and she had already been foiled three times in her attempt to open Lorelei’s locker in private. As soon as the kids left, the janitors would be everywhere, emptying trash cans, vacuuming floors, washing marks from the walls. She’d have to wait until tomorrow to try again.

Once again the office was busy, this time with students who were collecting materials that had to be taken home. The hubbub allowed Skye to slip the master locker key back on its hook undetected. She had one more mission to accomplish—take a look at the sign-in sheets—then she would call it a day. As soon as Opal turned to answer the phone, Skye scooped up the book and took it into the health room.

As she sat down at Abby’s desk, an image of the nurse and Wally on a date flashed through Skye’s mind. She cringed, then firmly pushed that thought away. She leafed through the pages until she came to a week ago Wednesday.

Almost all the names were those of parents, including Mrs. VanHorn, Mrs. Ingels, Mrs. Wren, and Mrs. Miles. The cheerleader moms must have had a meeting that morning. She’d have to ask Trixie about that. There had been a couple of delivery people, and a service person for the copying machine, but no one out of the ordinary.

Feeling defeated, Skye left school. As she turned out of the parking lot, Skye realized that she had forgotten to check her box for messages. She hesitated, but the car in back of her honked, and she drove on. Surely if there was something that needed her immediate attention, she’d have been told about it by now. The principals were not shy in making their needs known.

Coming to that conclusion, she headed toward the police station to drop off Lorelei’s drawing. Neither Wally nor May were on duty, so she wrote a note, put it with the picture in a manila envelope, and handed it to the dispatcher to give to the chief. Next she stopped at the grocery store to pick up ingredients for Sunday night’s dinner. She was going to make all the dishes she knew Kent would loathe. She selected a cheap bottle of burgundy. Kent insisted that a meal wasn’t a meal without a good glass of wine. This would not be a good glass of wine.

One of the few things she liked in Scumble River was her cottage. Besides nice clothes, it was her one extravagance. The rent was almost double what most houses in the area went for. She leased it from a couple who had built it as a weekend river retreat, then divorced before it was complete. Each refused to let the other have it or sell it, so they rented it to Skye. She hoped that if they ever reconciled, it would be the same year she could afford to move out of Scumble River.

Anticipating company, even Kent, made her look at the cottage with new eyes. As she entered the tiny foyer, she appreciated the antique coat tree with attached bench seat, which opened to provide storage.

To the left was a small kitchen. It was just big enough for a two-person table if it were shoved against the wall. Skye put away her groceries and went into her bedroom to change clothes. It had been another long day. It was time to relax, pet Bingo, and give herself a chance to process all that she’d seen and heard.

Friday morning had whizzed by like a kid on a skate-board. It was nearly one by the time Skye was able to take a break. She grabbed two cans of soda from the machine in the teachers’ lounge and headed to the library.

Trixie was helping a small group of students find books on various occupations for the vocational unit of their health class—the closet thing to career counseling the teens got at Scumble River High School.

Skye held up the can of Pepsi and motioned with her head to a small room off the main IMC area. The librarian nodded and held up five fingers.

Trixie’s office was crammed with a copy machine, desk, and boxes and boxes of books. Skye cleared an orange plastic chair and settled in. She popped the top of her Diet Pepsi and took a swig, wishing she had remembered to bring a Diet Coke from home.

Trixie bounced inside and closed the door. “Hi, how’s it going?”

“So-so. Just when I think things have calmed down, something else happens.”

“This is a tough situation.”

“True. Hey, I’ve got a question for you. Did the cheerleaders’ mothers have a meeting here at school the morning Lorelei was killed?”

Trixie dug through her desk drawer and pulled out her calendar. After flipping a few pages, she said, “Yes. The cheerleaders met before school and their moms met first period. We discussed fund-raising.”

“Was anyone missing?”

“They were all there except for Tara’s mom. Her whole family was out of town.”

“Did any of the moms handle the pom-poms?”

“I think they all did.” Trixie scratched her head. “Yeah, we handed them around while they were waiting for the cheerleaders’ meeting to end. We were talking about buying better ones when we upgraded the uniforms.”

“How about the cheerleaders, did they work with the pom-poms that morning?”

“No. It was a meeting, not a practice.”

“Did any of the moms come in contact with Lorelei?”

Trixie shrugged. “Maybe. At one point they were all in one room together.”

“So, Mrs. VanHorn could have had a pom-pom strand clinging to her, which transferred to the doctored bottle of juice, which she had an opportunity to hand to Lorelei?”

“Sure, but so could anyone else.”

Friday afternoon was productive. Skye saw a couple of her regular counselees, made arrangements for the first round of annual reviews, and returned calls. At four-thirty she packed up several files and the pile of papers she had grabbed from her box that morning but never gotten around to reading, and headed home. She had big plans for her Friday night—a pizza, a bubble bath, and a new Margaret Maron mystery.

It was time to relax. The week from hell was finally over.

CHAPTER 18

Not a Boast of a Chance

Saturday morning at exactly five to seven, Skye maneu vered the Bel Air into her parents’ driveway. The white pea gravel shone like a sea of pearls as she guided the huge car toward the red brick ranch house.

It was obvious that her father had cut the lawn only yesterday. The acre of grass spread as smooth as a putting green to the edge of the cornfield.

She hadn’t been out to visit in a while and was almost afraid to look and see what the concrete goose was wearing. A quick peek revealed a pink fur bunny costume, complete with ears and a powder-puff tail. Skye vowed to try once again to talk her mother out of dressing the lawn statuary.

Before she had fully stopped the car, May was climbing into the passenger seat. “Let’s go, you’re late.”

Skye put the Chevy in reverse. “Why’re you in such a hurry?”

“I promised your dad’s cousin I’d take pictures when her granddaughter competes, and I don’t know when she’s on.”

“It doesn’t start until nine, and it’s only an hour’s drive to Bloomington.” Skye gave up trying to explain, knowing that to her mother, “late” meant you were less than fifteen minutes early. “Which cousin is this?”

“One on the Denison side. Her mom and your dad’s father’s first wife were half sisters.”

Skye didn’t follow the genealogy, but asked, “What’s her name?”

“The cousin’s name or the granddaughter’s name?” May rubbed her arms. “It’s chilly this morning. Turn up the heat.”

“The heater doesn’t work.” She handed her mother an afghan. “The granddaughter, what’s her name?”

“Farrah Miles.”

Skye felt a mild shock run through her. No doubt about it, she was definitely related to too many people. “I never knew they were our relatives.”

“Someone was recently working on a family tree and discovered the connection. It’s over a hundred years old.”

“Mom, could you kind of keep this quiet?”

“Why?” May narrowed her eyes. “They seem like nice people. Nothing to be ashamed of.”

“It’s not that. It’s just that Farrah is mixed up with the Lorelei Ingels crowd and . . .”

“And she’s a suspect.”

“Sort of,” Skye admitted.

“Okay. But it’s not as if I’m the only one who knows.”

Skye shrugged. A secret in Scumble River had about as much chance as a weed in her father’s lawn. “Do your best.”

For the rest of the way they chatted about family matters and the latest Scumble River gossip. The drive itself was routine: a straight shot down Interstate 55, passing little towns with unusual names—Dwight, Odell, Pontiac, and Skye’s favorite, Towanda. Meticulously kept farmhouses and fields being readied for spring planting constituted most of the scenery. Even with the highway smells, the air was fresh, with only an occasional trace of hog to remind them what was around the next bend.

As they neared the exit for Jumer’s Hotel, the pageant location, the scenery changed from farmland to college town. Once Skye made the turn, she would never have guessed that crops would soon be growing less than a mile away.

They parked in the hotel’s lot and hiked across the asphalt to the elaborate entrance. Jumer’s had been built to resemble an elegant French château, but the furnishings looked truer to the owner’s original German roots. The lobby was full of heavy, carved wooden furniture, elaborate artwork, and tapestries.

Skye was relieved when May spotted a Miss Central Illinois pageant sign. She had been half-afraid that Lorna Ingels would get the governor to call off the contest and award the crown to Lorelei posthumously. Obviously that hadn’t happened. Abby had said that it was highly unlikely since the state government had nothing to do with the pageants, which were all privately run.

Part of the contest was already over. On Friday, the preliminary competition had been held. Today were the finals. The crowning would take place on Sunday. After purchasing tickets, Skye and her mother moved farther into the convention area. Older teens and young twentysomethings scurried up and down the hall, usually followed by their mothers. One of the pair was often screaming or crying.

Skye found the room where the first round of the finals was being held and guided her mother to a front-row seat. They had ten minutes to spare. She wondered if any of the girls from Scumble River had made the cut.

According to the program, the girls were judged on intelligence, poise, personality, beauty of face and figure, grooming, and speaking ability. Prizes ranged from five-hundred- to twenty-thousand-dollar scholarships.

Having seen the little girls compete, Skye was prepared for the spectacle of the older teens. May was not. Lights dimmed, and the emcee climbed onto the makeshift stage.

He welcomed everyone, and said, “Our first round today is Modeling. Points will be awarded for beauty, grooming, and personality. Our first contestant is Caresse Wren.”

May gasped and clutched Skye’s arm. “Do you see what that girl is wearing?”

Caresse wore formfitting black satin pants that rode low on her hips and were connected to her skimpy halter top by silver laces. Over this was a chiffon bolero jacket trimmed in marabou.

“Prepare yourself, Mom,” Skye warned. “That may well be one of the milder outfits. You should have seen what the little kids wore last weekend.”

“Do you mean the twins let their daughters expose themselves in public like this?”

“They did last weekend.”

May sputtered. “I always knew those girls were a few feathers short of a whole duck, but I didn’t realize they were dumber than a box of hair.”

“Lots of people do this.”

“I wonder if Minnie knows about it.” May had a gleam in her eye, and Skye knew that her aunt, her cousins’ mother, would be informed by this evening.

As more and more contestants came onstage, it was all Skye could do to contain her mother’s comments. Most of the teens wore incredibly titillating outfits and paraded around as if they were dancing at a “gentleman’s club.”

When Farrah Miles was finally announced, Skye held her breath, afraid that if she were dressed too provocatively, May would charge the stage. Luckily for everyone, the girl wore a relatively modest yellow sundress with a matching hat and jacket. She still looked ten years older than her actual age, as did the other contestants, but the hooker quality was muted. May happily snapped several pictures for Farrah’s grandmother.

The next round was Talent. Most of the girls seemed to do some variation of song, dance, or gymnastic routine, though a few performances were truly unique.

May whispered to Skye, “Whoever let that poor girl come out here and pack a suitcase for her talent should be horsewhipped.”

“Or forced to watch that first girl, over and over,” Skye said, agreeing with her mother. “The one who showed the video of herself doing tractor drills.”

“True.” May crossed her arms. “When’s lunch?”

After a quick meal in the hotel restaurant May and Skye hurried to the conference theater for the Interview competition. It was the longest segment and often the one that separated the winners from the losers.

Skye scanned for seats in the already-full auditorium. She spotted two near the front and took her mother’s arm. May was still complaining about the prices at the restaurant.

As the women sat down, the lights dimmed. The emcee came out, and after a brief spiel he introduced the judges. There were five. Charlie and Abby were the only two Skye recognized.

Skye perked up when she realized that Zoë VanHorn was the first contestant. She came onstage dressed in a shocking-pink-and-black suit. The pleated skirt barely covered her derriere, and she wore nothing under the jacket.

The emcee approached her with a broad smile. “Good afternoon. Zoë, your question is: If you were given a hundred thousand dollars and had to spend it on yourself, what would you do with it?”

A murmur ran through the audience. This was a tough one. Almost anything the girl said would make her look bad.

Thirty seconds went by, and the emcee called time. “Do you have an answer for us, Zoë?”

Skye had never seen the teen at such a loss for words.

Zoë fumbled with her hair and tugged at her skirt, losing points for poise. Finally, she said, “I’d use it to go to college and medical school.”

The audience let out its breath. An acceptable answer.

“What would you specialize in?” the emcee asked.

Zoë blurted out, “Plastic surgery. No emergency calls to interrupt my beauty sleep.” She flashed a smile that seemed to say, see how clever I am, but no one laughed.

Skye heard Priscilla VanHorn’s groan from three rows away.

Her daughter must have heard it, too, because she quickly continued. “Just kidding. Really I want to ah . . . help burn victims and others with deformities.”

The emcee raised an eyebrow, but moved on to the other contestants without comment. The next girl was asked: Why did you enter this pageant? Others were given questions such as: What can you contribute to the Miss Central Illinois pageant organization? and Who are your heroes?

After the program ended, Skye and her mother were chatting with someone May knew as they made their way out of the theater. A commotion onstage caught Skye’s attention, and she turned in time to see Priscilla VanHorn confront the emcee. Skye edged backward toward the front.

After a minute or so of intense whispering between Priscilla and the emcee, Skye heard, “That was an unfair question. None of the other girls were asked anything nearly as tricky.”

The emcee replied, “As I’ve been telling you, I don’t make up the questions. The judges hand me a sheet of paper with a list of the contestants’ names and a question next to them.”

Priscilla’s face turned red. “I see. So one of the judges had it in for my daughter.”

“I’m sure the process is completely random.”

“And I’m Princess Grace. I need to talk to the judges.”

“You can’t do that, ma’am. Not until after they hand in their score sheets.”

“Are you an idiot, or do you just play one on TV? It’ll be too late by then.” Mrs. VanHorn ran from the theater.

Skye debated. Should she follow, or try to notify someone? Finally, she grabbed May with the intention of running after Priscilla.

May didn’t budge. “What in the world are you doing?”

“Hurry, Mom, I think she’s going after the judges. If she murdered Lorelei, she might do some serious harm to one of them.”

“Who?” May had still not moved.

“Zoë’s mother.” Skye was trying to shake off her mother’s restraining arm so she could pursue the woman alone.

May started running, yelling over her shoulder, “When I asked Charlie to go to lunch with us, he said they had a room set aside for the judges. He pointed in this direction.”

As they hurried along, Skye kept an eye out for an official. Of course, the halls were now deserted. Most contestants had retired to their rooms to rest before the night’s Evening Gown competition, and the audience was probably in the bar.

Skye heard several people shouting before they rounded the corner. Security guards were holding Mrs. VanHorn by both arms, and she was swearing like a rap singer on an MTV video.

Charlie was sitting on the floor with blood coming from his forehead. Skye and May ran up to him.

May whipped a Wash’n Dri from her purse and ripped open the foil packet. “What happened? Are you alright?” She pressed the damp paper to his wound and ordered, “Skye, call 911.”

Charlie stood up slowly. “I’m fine. It’s just a scratch. Don’t call an ambulance.”

Skye put her fingers to his wrist. His pulse was rapid and weak. His color was pasty, and he was shivering. She turned to the guards still struggling with Priscilla VanHorn. “Can you get hold of Abby Fleming? She’s another one of the judges, but she’s also a nurse.”

One of the guards nodded and spoke into his radio.

Skye led Charlie to a chair and checked his cut. The bleeding had nearly stopped, but his breathing was shallow and his pupils dilated.

She was trying to decide whether to go against his wishes and call 911 as Priscilla was led away by the guards, shouting, “Zoë had better win, or you ain’t seen nothing yet!”

Abby finally arrived, complete with first-aid kit and blanket. She cleaned Charlie’s wound, had him lie down with his feet raised, and then covered him up. She tried to talk him into going to the hospital but he repeatedly refused. Abby reluctantly agreed to check back in fifteen minutes and told Skye and May to keep an eye on him.

They all sat quietly until Charlie’s breathing was back to normal and his color was returning. He said, “She came out of nowhere. Everyone else was already in the judge’s room, but I stopped to use the toilet. She was screaming at me about her daughter’s interview question. When I said there was nothing I could do about it, she started to claw at me, like a cat out of hell.”

“How scary,” Skye said.

“I couldn’t do anything. I just froze. Men don’t hit women.”

“That was the olden days, Charlie,” May said. “If a crazy woman comes after you, it’s okay to smack her.”

“You should have seen her, May. I’ve never felt such hatred. Not even when I was in the war.”

“And all over a beauty contest,” May tsked.

When they got the news that Mrs. VanHorn had been taken to the police station and Zoë had been disqualified, May and Skye decided to skip the evening gown competition and leave as soon as they were sure Charlie was fully recovered. Skye tried to talk her godfather into coming with them, but he insisted he was okay and wasn’t going to ruin things for the other contestants. Abby said she would keep an eye on him and follow his car home.

As they walked through Jumer’s parking lot, May said, “Do you remember the pageant I entered you in when you were six?”

Skye shuddered. “Too well. I didn’t even make it through the first round. I decided then and there that since I couldn’t sing or dance and I wasn’t pretty, I might as well be dead.”

May stopped abruptly. “It wasn’t that you didn’t win. I took you out after the first round because you seemed so scared. You couldn’t even talk, you were so upset.”

“But I thought . . .” Skye trailed off, surprised into silence. The things you learn too late.

They’d almost reached the Bel Air when Skye spotted Abby’s silver Camaro. The bumper sticker read: SO FEW MEN. SO FEW WHO CAN AFFORD ME. The citizens of Scumble River didn’t mess around with vanity plates, at seventy-five dollars apiece, when bumper stickers cost less than a buck.

Skye watched her mother ease herself slowly into the Chevy, her movements a far cry from this morning when she had bounced into the car. The attack on Charlie had been hard on the older woman, and for once she looked all of her fifty-seven years.

May was asleep before Skye exited onto the highway.

She woke as they took the Scumble River exit. “Sorry, I don’t know what came over me.”

“That’s okay. It’s an easy drive. Are you hungry? You didn’t have much for lunch, and we seem to have missed supper.”

May nodded. “How about getting some ice cream?”

“Sounds good.”

A few minutes later Skye pulled into a local drive-in. She ordered her favorite—a marshmallow sundae. May opted for a banana split. As they ate, Skye contemplated telling her mother about Kent and her recent discovery.

Finally, she compromised. “I’m breaking up with Kent tomorrow night.”

“Good.”

Trust May to eulogize a six-month relationship in one word.

CHAPTER 19

Here, There, and Every Affair

After Mass Sunday morning Skye hurried toward her car while mentally listing everything she had to do that day.

“Skye, wait up.”

She paused. Simon was hurrying toward her. His Lexus was one spot over from her Bel Air in the church parking lot.

“We need to talk about the youth committee.”

“I thought maybe you were going to have me arrested again.”

“That business with the tox screen was not my fault,” he declared. “If I thought you were responsible, I wouldn’t have called the police. I would have handled it myself.”

Was that last sentence meant to be as sexy as it sounded? “Well, I guess that’s good to hear.”

“I didn’t mention your midnight escapade with the coffin, so I don’t know why Wally jumped to the conclusion you were the thief.”

“Thank you.” Skye felt her face grow warm. “I suppose I have pulled a couple of boneheaded capers, and I shouldn’t blame either of you for suspecting me.”

Simon slid his fingers up and down her bare arm. “You do go a little overboard once in a while.”

“Yeah, I get too involved sometimes.”

“I’ve been thinking about things, and caring too much isn’t the worst trait for a girlfriend to have.”

Skye’s face flamed at the word “girlfriend.” Was she ready to make up with Simon? What about Wally? She just wasn’t sure. What response would keep Simon interested, but not lead him on? “What a sweet thing to say.”

“Why don’t we get together sometime next week, and talk about the youth committee . . . and other things?” Simon’s voice dropped to a seductive tone on the last few words.

“That’d be great.” Skye was stunned by his change of attitude, and a little distrustful. What was he up to? Had he heard about Abby and Wally and felt sorry for her?

“How’s Friday?”

She slid into the car and closed the door. “Fine.”

He leaned into the Bel Air. “Six, okay?”

“Sure.”

“Good.” He placed a sweet kiss on her lips and strolled away.

Skye couldn’t believe how hard it had been to find someone to go to Meijer Superstore with her. Normally she would have gone alone, but she was still leery of the Bel Air and wanted someone along in case it quit running or she went in the ditch or something.

Trixie had her in-laws to entertain, and May was going with Jed to a farm auction. Charlie was still in Bloomington. When she’d called to check on him, he had said he was feeling fine, Priscilla VanHorn had been released by the police to her husband, and a girl from Clay Center had won the pageant title.

Skye finally telephoned Vince and was shocked to learn he was free. Skye looked over at her brother as they sped north on Interstate 55, and sighed. He was way too good-looking and charming to be wasting his life in Scumble River. His butterscotch-blond ponytail flew in the breeze, and his year-round tan enhanced the muscles on his forearms and thighs.

“Vince?” Skye asked.

“Mmm?” He adjusted his sunglasses and turned toward her.

“Why do you stay in Scumble River?”

He shrugged. “Why not?”

“Don’t you ever want to see what it might be like in a bigger pond?”

“Nah.” Vince leaned against the headrest. “See, Sis, you’re never satisfied. You always want more. I figure right now I’ve pretty much got everything I want.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. I own my own business. I date the most beautiful girls around, and I’ve got my family close by.”

Skye struggled to keep the big car between the lines. “And that’s enough for you?”

“What more could I want?”

“Maybe if you opened a salon in Chicago, you could do hair for the rich and famous.”

“And maybe I could spend a lot of money on rent to cut the hair of people that I wouldn’t like or be comfortable with.”

Skye let his words sink in as she took the Weber Road exit and followed it until it curved left onto Naper Boulevard. “You don’t want fame and fortune? You don’t want to be someone?”

As she maneuvered the huge aqua vehicle into a parking spot, Vince patted her knee. “I am someone. I have a feeling fame and fortune aren’t all they’re cracked up to be.” He bounded out of the car. “Besides, now that I’m drumming again, maybe I’ll hook up with a band and we’ll become the next teen craze.”

Skye joined her brother, and together they walked into Meijer Superstore. She had never been there before, although she had heard a lot about the megamart. It was gigantic. People were stationed every few feet, holding red flags to direct customers to the correct section of the building. They looked like the flight crew on the deck of an aircraft carrier.

Vince went to price supplies for his shop. Skye followed the greeter’s directions to the beverage aisle. Twin walls full of every kind of soda, juice drink, and specialty water made her gape. She had never seen so many different ways to say “fruit juice.” She was midway down the second side when she spotted the bottle she had seen next to Lorelei’s dead body. She picked it up off the shelf. It was clear with a rounded bottom, a slight indentation about a quarter of the way up, and a neck that appeared to have been twisted several times. The cap was gold.

Eagerly, Skye turned the label toward her. It was blue, and printed in yellow letters were the words SEA MIST. Right beneath were smaller black letters that said: “ginseng, astragalus & agave.” To the right of those words was a sailboat and farther down was the single word VAPOR.

Besides Vapor, it also came in three other flavors—Shore, Star, and Blaze. She took one of each and went in search of the store manager. He confirmed her suspicions. Meijer’s was the only chain in the Chicago area that sold the Sea Mist brand.

It was nearly five by the time Skye got home from the megamart. After putting away the Sea Mist and changing into slacks and a twin set, she immediately began preparing supper. The doorbell was ringing as she slid a tuna casserole into the oven. It had to bake for half an hour. She hoped Kent was starving.

“That color suits you. It must be sky blue,” Kent said as he strolled into the foyer and pecked her on the cheek. Always well dressed, tonight he wore gray wool slacks and a matching silk shirt. Skye figured they cost more than her weekly salary.

“Thank you.” She guided him into the back half of the cottage, which consisted of an open area lined with floor-to-ceiling windows, intermixed with bookcases and a set of French doors. “How were rehearsals?” She wanted to keep the discussion away from their relationship until she had a chance to question him about Lorna.

“Fine. Zoë has more talent than I gave her credit for. She makes a fine little Sleeping Beauty.” He settled into Skye’s newest piece of furniture, a cream-colored recliner.

“Would you like a drink? I have soda, Sea Mist, wine . . .” She wanted to see if he’d react to the name of the drink found beside Lorelei’s body.

Kent didn’t appear to notice. “No whiskey?”

She shook her head.

“Damn, I could do with a whiskey. Wine it will have to be.”

Skye’s mouth tightened. She’d been taught it was impolite to ask for something the host didn’t offer. “Coming up.”

In the kitchen, she poured the cheap wine into a crystal goblet, put it on a silver tray, and carried it out to him. She watched closely as he took a healthy swallow.

“This is awful.” Kent plunked down the glass with such force Skye was sure it would break.

“Really? I’m so sorry.” Skye played innocent. “And it’s the only liquor I have in the house. Would you rather have a soda?”

He took another sip and grimaced. “No. I need a drink.”

Skye saw her opening. “Has that VanHorn woman been bothering you again?”

“She’s relentless. She wants her daughter to win. It doesn’t matter if it’s a quiz worth ten points or a national beauty pageant; Zoë must have it all.” Kent drank steadily and Skye kept topping off his glass.

“Isn’t that typical of most moms?”

“It’s the length she and some of these women go to that’s astonishing.”

“I suppose some have even offered to sleep with you,” Skye said casually.

He smirked. “It goes with the territory. Of course, I’ve always turned them down.”

Skye moved into the kitchen to check on dinner.

Kent followed. She handed him the platter of Jell-O. He held it as if it were alive. “What is this?”

“Surely you’ve seen blue Jell-O before.”

“But what’s suspended inside?” Kent swallowed hard. “They look like . . .”

“Gummy worms. See how the Jell-O mold is sitting on shredded cabbage? It’s supposed to look like a pond in the middle of the field.” Skye bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. “Go ahead and put the platter on the table by the French doors. I’ll be right there.”

She took the casserole and bowl of mashed potatoes in herself.

After they had helped themselves to the food, Skye continued, “What’s your opinion of Zoë?”

“A mouthwatering little morsel with the morals of an alley cat.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I hear the kids talk. She’s slept with the entire football team, except Troy, and she’s working on him.” Kent took a bite of the entrée. “What the devil is this?”

“Captain’s casserole.”

“Huh?”

“Tuna with cheese, noodles, peas, and potato chips crumbled on top.”

“You’re kidding.”

“It’s an old family recipe.” Skye fought to keep a straight face.

“What’s this orange stuff?” Kent thrust his fork toward her.

“A cheese that is in the recipe.”

“It looks like Velveeta.”

“Yes, doesn’t it?” Skye hurried with another question, hoping to get in a few more answers before Kent realized he was deliberately getting a miserable meal. “So, did Lorelei have a reputation for sleeping around like Zoë?”

“No, very different. She didn’t seem to be that attracted to teenage boys. They called her the ice queen.” Kent forked up some mashed potatoes. “Where’s the gravy?”

“Sorry, no gravy. Here, try some butter. How about some pickled beets? They’re Midwest soul food.”

Kent shook his head and muttered. “I see why we’ve always gone out to eat.”

“What?” she asked sharply.

“Just wondering what’s for dessert.”

“I’ll get it. I’m sure you’ll like it.”

She returned carrying a full glass bowl.

Kent leaned forward eagerly. “Is that my favorite?” He took a big spoonful, put it in his mouth, and frowned. “That’s not Tiramasu.”

Skye pasted on a sad expression and allowed her shoulders to slump. “Not exactly. I had to use banana pudding for the custard and vanilla wafers for the lady fingers.”

“Ah, Scumble River’s grocery store doesn’t carry the real ingredients, I suppose.”

Why had she ever dated this guy? Skye wondered. Her taste in men was truly atrocious. So far this week one had trapped her in a coffin, another had arrested her, and now this jerk had insulted her cooking and her hometown. It was dawning on her that whereas she felt free to denigrate Scumble River, she didn’t like it when anyone else did.

She said coolly, all traces of her fake remorse gone, “That’s not it at all. I just didn’t think you deserved a good meal.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Skye ignored his question. “I’ll bet Lorna Ingels would serve you a meal more to your tastes. She seems pretty sophisticated.”

To Skye’s surprise, Kent allowed her previous comment to drop, and answered, “So she fooled you, too. She has a veneer of culture, but it doesn’t go very deep, and she’s always afraid of what might show through if she lets go.”

“Really? What is her background?”

“Lorelei told me her mother grew up in the trailer courts. In fact, Lorna’s mother still lives there.” His mouth puckered in disapproval. “I think that’s why she buys so many things.”

Skye held her temper. This man badly needed to be taken down a notch, but she still had questions. “Is that so bad? The Ingels certainly can afford it.”

“That’s not what I hear. Lorelei said her parents always fought about money and that Allen claimed Lorna would put them all in the poorhouse.”

“Lorelei sure told you a lot. You must have been close.” Could Kent have been the teacher Lorelei was sleeping with?

He became interested in his glass of wine and shrugged. “No more than any other student.”

Skye decided to let that obvious prevarication slide for the moment. “Do you know the younger daughter, Linette?”

Kent moved back to the lounge chair, leaving Skye sitting at the table by the French doors. “I’ve met her. She’s like Lorelei, but without a conscience.”

“Interesting observations. Perhaps you should have been a psychologist.”

“No offense, but why would anyone want to spend her life listening to other people talk about themselves?” Kent held out his wineglass for a refill.

Skye grabbed the bottle from the table and headed toward the lounge chair in which Kent had flung himself, not noticing that Bingo had chosen to stretch out in the middle of her path. Her foot thudded into something solid, and she pitched forward. She and a shower of wine landed squarely in Kent’s lap.

He sprang up, swearing, and dumped her to the floor. “My trousers! My new trousers.”

That did it. The oaf hadn’t even asked if she were alright. She struggled to her feet. Still no assistance offered by Kent, who was scrubbing the wine stain on the front of his pants with a hand-crocheted lace scarf he had grabbed from the end table. She snatched the doily from his hand and screamed, “This was my grandmother’s, my dead grandmother’s! Don’t you dare use it for a rag.”

Kent look dumbfounded for a moment, then retorted, “Look at my trousers. You’d better hope the dry cleaner can get the stain out or you’ll have to pay for them.”

Skye was about to tell him where he could stick his pants when a thought occurred to her. If she offered to clean them herself, she could go through his pockets and wallet. Maybe there’d be something interesting in them. Men seemed to like to collect trophies of their conquests.

Biting back the words she wanted to speak, Skye said, “Take off your pants, and I’ll see if I can clean them. I have some really good dry-cleaner-strength stain remover.”

Kent, still swearing, disappeared into the bathroom.

Skye checked to see that Bingo was okay, then found a terry robe she’d never worn and pushed it through the bathroom door to Kent. She certainly didn’t want to see him in his Jockeys. He handed her his pants.

She took the offending article of clothing into her tiny utility room. It had space for a washer/dryer and ironing board, but little else. She threw the pants on a small counter and felt around in the pockets. She retrieved a wallet, fifty-six cents in change, a comb, and a handkerchief.

Skye put his personal items aside, and grabbed a bottle from the shelf. After following the directions, which included waiting several minutes for the solution to work, she turned her attention to the wallet. It contained a twenty and two singles, the usual credit cards, insurance identifications, and other paraphernalia.

The most interesting items were tucked away in the “secret” compartment that everyone knows about. There Skye found a very interesting picture of Lorna Ingels dressed in nothing but a teddy and high heels. Aha, here was her proof. Kent was having an affair with a married woman. A woman whose daughter had died under mysterious circumstances.

Where had the photo been taken? Skye squinted. It wasn’t Kent’s apartment. The setting didn’t look like any of Charlie’s cabins, either, but it did have a motel-like look. Must be the Holiday Inn near the highway in Laurel.

What a sleaze. Imagine having sex with your student’s married mom. She tried to stuff the picture back where she had found it, but it wouldn’t go all the way in. Something was in the way.

She dug her fingers into the leather fold and pulled out a much creased piece of pink paper. Skye read:

Dear Kenny,

Our night of wild sex was totally awesome. I still haven’t showered so that I can smell you on my body. I love the way you kiss every inch of my skin. Next time let’s try some of those other things from that book you showed me. It was fun sneaking into your apartment dressed as a pizza delivery boy. What shall I wear next time?

Love,

Lorelei

P.S. Remember you promised to change my grade to an

A.

Yech! Kent was slimier than she’d thought. He had taken advantage of not only the mother, but the daughter, too. The thought of him having sex with one of his students made Skye want to shoot him, or herself, for ever having dated him.

Skye took a few deep breaths, trying to calm herself and decide what to do. Should she confront him? No. That could be dangerous. It was clear Kent could be the father of Lorelei’s baby.

Finally, she decided she would keep everything, and tomorrow morning she would make photocopies, then turn it all over to Wally. Kent was going to pay for his sins.

Right now she had to give the man back his pants, pretend she didn’t know he was lower than a worm’s belly, and break up with him. An awkward situation at best.