Murder of a Sleeping Beauty srm-3

by Denise Swanson

  “Charlie knew?” A look of betrayal crossed May’s face. Charlie and May had been trading secrets and gossip for nearly thirty years.

  “Sure, he was there. He drove me home.”

  “Mmm.” May paused for a few moments, then continued on a different track. “That reminds me. Your father’s found a car for you.”

  Skye felt her heart sink. Her dad’s idea of a great car was good transportation—paint and fenders were optional. After driving her father’s eyesores all her life, this time she wanted something with a little more beauty than the beasts he usually chose. She knew it was shallow to care about a car’s looks, but she didn’t care. This time she wanted something hot. A Miata if she could swing the payments.

  “Ah, well, that’s really nice of him, but I did tell Dad I was going to pick out a car myself.”

  “Just take a look at it.” May played her trump card. “You don’t want to hurt your father’s feelings, do you?”

  “Sure, I’ll look at it.” Being a bridge player, Skye recognized an ace of spades when she heard it. “But I’m not buying it.”

  “Sure. No one said you had to.” May nodded. “Want a ride to school?”

  Skye weighed her options. A three-mile hike, hoping to see someone she knew who would give her a ride, or five minutes of interrogation by her mother about Lorelei’s death. “Sure, thanks. Is that a new jacket?” She took a stab at trying to distract May’s attention.

  “No. Now tell me what happened yesterday, from the beginning.”

  The drive to school was short, and Skye was only up to finding the body when May steered the Olds into the empty parking lot. “Keep going. No one is here yet, so you have time.”

  “Not really, Mom.” Skye grabbed the door handle and pushed. It seemed to be stuck. “I’ve got to get some plans in place before everyone else arrives.” And if she were lucky, she might be able to squeeze in her morning swim in the school’s pool.

  “Five more minutes.”

  “I’ll call you tonight.” Skye tried the door again.

  “Childproof automatic locks.” May smiled serenely. “Tell me the rest.”

  Skye sagged against the seat. Why were her relatives always kidnapping her? As she told her mom what May wanted to know, Skye realized they had all forgotten about the girl who had sounded the alarm. She would have to confirm that it was indeed Elvira Doozier and talk to her ASAP.

  When Skye finished, May pressed the button to release the doors. “You know,” she said, “from what you said, Allen and Lorna Ingels’ attitude is really pretty strange. You ought to talk to your cousins. They know a lot about Lorelei and her mother.”

  “Which cousins?” Skye stood on the blacktop, straightening her navy wool pantsuit.

  “The twins. They’re involved with all that beauty-pageant nonsense, and so are the Ingels.” May looked at her watch and frowned.

  Before Skye could question her mother further, May leaned over, shut the passenger door, and drove away. Skye gazed at the red taillights, wondering where her mother was off to before seven on a Thursday morning.

  The phone was ringing as Skye unlocked the front door of the school. It stopped while she was still trying to open the door to the front office, but started up again almost immediately. Should she answer it? Probably not, but what if it were the co-op with a list of helpers?

  She dropped her tote onto the counter and reached for the phone, pressing the button for an outside line. She’d call the co-op back rather than run the risk of playing telephone roulette, with a thousand-to-one odds in favor of the caller being an irate parent.

  This time she reached an actual person. A secretary. Skye identified herself and asked to speak to the coordinator for their district. She had met him only a half dozen times, as he rarely attended any of Scumble River’s meetings. She was told that he wouldn’t be in until nine.

  “Could someone else help me? We have an emergency, a student death. Does the co-op have a crisis plan?” Skye heard her voice become shaky. It was just starting to hit her that she would have to handle the situation all by herself.

  “I’m sorry. That has to go through your coordinator. But I can page him if you like.”

  “Yes, definitely page him.”

  “Please hold.” Music suddenly blared into Skye’s ear. Appropriately enough, it was Patsy Cline singing “Lonely Street.”

  Twenty minutes later, Skye finally got to talk to the coordinator. “As I’ve explained at least a dozen times, I need help,” she said. “What can the co-op do for me?”

  The faculty and staff of the high school were beginning to arrive. She heard excited voices and sobs, and Skye wondered if by the time the announcement was made at the faculty meeting, the stories going around would resemble in any way what had really happened.

  “We’ll try to pull some social workers and psychologists who are employed by the cooperative, rather than by individual school districts,” the coordinator replied. “But this could take a while, and they may not be available for the whole day.”

  “How about you? Couldn’t you come down for at least the morning? Didn’t you say you have a degree in social work?” Skye couldn’t keep the desperation from her voice.

  “Working directly with students is not part of my job,” the coordinator’s emotionless voice droned. “As I said, I’ll see what help I can get you.”

  “Fine.” Skye recognized when someone really didn’t care.

  Her mind raced as she hurried down the hall toward the guidance room. Coach would not be happy, but she was commandeering his office for the day. She stopped suddenly as an idea formed. If Coach were a real guidance counselor, he should be able to help with the day’s crisis. She had always suspected he wasn’t truly qualified. Now she’d find out.

  Who else could she get to talk to kids with minimal instructions from her? Trixie and Abby. Trixie Frayne was the school librarian and cheerleader coach, a natural listener, and a lot of kids already confided in her. Plus, she was Skye’s best friend and could be counted on to do her a favor. And Abby Fleming was the school nurse. Surely she would have had some training in at least rudimentary counseling.

  Skye talked to Trixie and Abby, who were glad to help, although a little unsure of their ability. Next she approached the coach. As she expected, he flat-out refused. Most teachers were happy to do what they could for the school and the students, but there was a small coterie of those who had been teaching too long and had essentially retired before the actual papers were signed. Coach belonged to the latter group.

  Skye went in search of Homer. She found him sequestered in his office and explained what she had already done.

  Homer shook his shaggy head. “Not good. Not good. Mrs. Frayne and Ms. Fleming are not qualified to provide counseling, thus they are not covered under our liability insurance.”

  Skye bit back a retort and searched frantically for an answer. “Wouldn’t they be covered by the Good Samaritan law?”

  “I’ll call our lawyer and find out.”

  The attorney wasn’t in his office yet.

  Before Homer could say no, Skye asked, “What do you suppose would be worse in the eyes of the law: do nothing or make a good-faith effort?”

  After a few minutes of agonizing, Homer grudgingly gave Skye permission to follow through on her plan. Then, without warning, he stood, and said, “Time for the faculty meeting. I’m turning it over to you to run.”

  He was halfway down the hall before Skye could protest. She raced after him, but as soon as she caught up with him, in the Home Ec room where the meetings were held, he turned to the teachers who were already assembled and introduced her.

  Suddenly she felt her own grief and despair fighting their way to the surface. She fleetingly considered faking an appendicitis attack so she could go home sick. Instead, she pushed her distress back down, nodded to Homer, and began. “We have all had a terrible shock. As you know, Lorelei Ingels was found dead in our gymnasium yesterday afternoon. As of this morn
ing we do not know the cause of death.

  “Many of us feel a personal sense of loss, and those of you who think you cannot handle your classes, please let Mr. Knapik know immediately, so other arrangements can be made.”

  Skye paused, but no one came forward. She didn’t expect anyone would. They would come later in private. “Here is our plan for today. We’re a small school, so as soon as the bell rings to signal the beginning of classes, we will assemble all students in the cafeteria, since we still aren’t allowed access to the gym. I will announce Lorelei’s death, and give them what little information we have about the circumstances surrounding it. At that point, I ask that all teachers return to their first-period rooms. Any students who want to talk more about Lorelei’s death will be asked to stay in the cafeteria. The rest will be dismissed to their classrooms.”

  Skye swallowed hard and forced her voice to remain steady. She could not afford to break down. “The students who remain in the cafeteria will be counseled by me, the school nurse, and the librarian. As the need arises, we will break into even smaller groups or see kids individually. I’m hoping that some social workers or psychologists from the co-op will arrive this afternoon. When that happens, if any of you would like to talk to someone, please feel free. Of course, if you need to see someone before then, find me, and we’ll speak with you immediately.”

  Most of the teachers looked as numb as Skye felt. Some had tears rolling down their cheeks. Skye asked, “Any questions?”

  After dealing with the usual queries about who should say what to the students’ questions, Skye dismissed the faculty. There were two more things she had to do before the day officially started. She wanted to ask the secretary to get some coffee, soft drinks, donuts, and snacks for the counseling rooms. And she had to call Wally and find out if a cause of death had been established. How was usually the first thing teens wanted to know. Too bad that question was followed closely by why, something that the adults could never answer.

  CHAPTER 4

  More Than Meets the Lie

  The students filed silently into the cafeteria. There was none of the joking, laughter, or raised voices Skye had come to expect at an assembly. They found seats on the benches, without the usual fuss of who sat next to whom, and stared forward. Skye felt as if she were about to address the Stepford children.

  She walked nervously to the front of the room, near the window where food trays were usually handed out. The pea-green cinder-block walls were hung with posters advertising the seven basic food groups and nutritionally balanced meals. Many had been altered with Magic Marker and teenage wit. Skye blinked; was that supposed to be a condom on that banana?

  A heavy odor of Tater Tots and hot dogs hung in the airless room. Skye opened her mouth, but found she couldn’t remember what she had meant to say. The eerie silence and concentrated stares were making her nervous.

  This was one of the many tough parts of her job. She had to keep her own emotions in check in order to create an atmosphere in which the students would feel safe to expose their feelings. Teens only felt secure if the adults around them exhibited a calm, unruffled, it’s-all-being-handled type of demeanor.

  With an effort, she pulled herself together and began, “As many of you know, my name is Ms. Denison, and I’m the school psychologist.” Skye smiled slightly and nodded at several students she recognized. “I’m sure you’ve all heard the sad news—Lorelei Ingels was found dead yesterday on the school stage. We don’t know the cause of death, but we will share that information with you as soon as we do find out. There is no reason to believe that she suffered, or that there is any danger to anyone else.”

  Skye studied the faces in front of her. Most of the teens were staring back at her. She could hear whispers starting as she continued, “In a few minutes Mr. Knapik will ring the bell, and everyone should go to their first-hour classes. Anyone who feels too upset should stay here and we’ll talk some more.”

  After the teens were dismissed, Skye did a quick count of how many were left. About forty kids remained seated. They ranged from clumps of eight or ten, to single students hunkered by themselves.

  Forty was far too many for an effective group intervention. She’d have to divide them among the helpers she had available. Weighing the personalities involved, Skye resolved to give Abby the least upset kids. The school nurse tended to be a bit clinical, which would be appropriate for the teens who would be fine as soon as they could sort out the experience in their minds.

  Trixie was a great listener. She could take the kids who were upset more with the idea of someone dying than with Lorelei’s death in particular.

  Skye would take Lorelei’s closest friends—the cheerleaders, the drama crowd, and the student council.

  “Okay, in a little bit we’ll divide up into three groups. Mrs. Frayne will take some of you to the library to talk, Ms. Fleming’s bunch will go to the music room, and the rest will come with me to the guidance office.”

  Skye scanned the crowd. How to decide who was the least upset? She shrugged. Maybe this wasn’t the correct way to approach this crisis, but it was all she could think of. She hadn’t been given much training for this type of incident. “Before we break into groups, I’d like you each to tell me a little bit about how you knew Lorelei.”

  Three girls were clustered together at the front table. One with short blond curls met Skye’s gaze and lifted an eyebrow. Skye pointed to her. “Would you go first?”

  “I was her best friend. We were co-captains of the cheerleading squad.”

  Skye thought she heard a small voice say, “Lorelei let you be her assistant. You were never the co-captain.”

  It was interesting how quickly people jumped in to get their version across. Skye dipped her head to the two other girls. “Were you on the squad, too?”

  They nodded and whispered.

  That triad would come with Skye.

  A muscular young man sitting with two other guys caught Skye’s attention next, and she walked over to them. “And how did you know Lorelei?”

  His voice cracked when he answered, “She was my girlfriend.”

  “I’m so sorry.” This boy would probably be the chief mourner. She would have to watch him closely. “Are these your friends?” Skye indicated the teens flanking him.

  “Yes, we’re on the football team together.”

  My group, too. She worked her way through the rest of the kids. The last girl sat by herself in the back, staring into space and looking out of place among the ultraslim blondes who had been in Lorelei’s inner circle. She had a voluptuous figure and long, wavy brown hair. It took Skye several tries to get the girl’s attention.

  Finally, the loner said, “I’m no one. Lorelei didn’t know I was alive.”

  Skye looked at her quizzically.

  The girl rose from her seat. Her brown eyes blazed. “I hated her. I’m glad she’s dead.”

  It was close to ten-thirty by the time Skye left the guidance office. Several of the students had asked for individual sessions. She was heading for the faculty lounge and the staff bathroom when Opal Hill, the school secretary, came flying down the hall. Normally Opal reminded Skye of a mouse, but today, dressed all in black, she looked more like a bat.

  “Oh, thank goodness I found you. Mr. Knapik is in with the coordinator from the co-op and has ordered me not to disturb them, but the police are here. What should I do?”

  “Tell Homer immediately.”

  “No, I can’t.”

  “Well, I can.” Skye marched toward the office, trailed by the secretary.

  Wally, Officer Quirk, and two other Scumble River policemen were standing in the main office. Skye walked past them, ignoring their words, and knocked on Homer’s door. No answer. She knocked again and leaned her head against the wood. Not a sound. She tried the door. It opened easily, but no one was in the room.

  Skye turned to Wally. “Did you see Homer leave this office?”

  The chief shook his head. “No, but we don�
�t need him. Just give us the class lists, and we’ll pull the students we need to talk to.”

  Skye ignored Wally and tried Opal. “Was Homer in his office when the police arrived and you left to get me?”

  The secretary nodded.

  “How the heck did he get out?” Skye scanned the inside of Homer’s office, and walked over to the closed drapes. Come to think of it, she had never seen them open. She stuck her hand underneath the fabric and fished for the cord. Nabbing it, she yanked. The curtains swished back to reveal not the window Skye was expecting, but a door designed to look like a window from the outside of the building.

  Opal murmured, “I guess they went to lunch.”

  “At ten-thirty?”

  The other woman shrugged.

  Skye turned to Wally. “You’ll have to wait for them to get back. Opal and I don’t have the authority to let you have the list or interview students.”

  Wally’s face was rigid. “We don’t need your permission.”

  Skye didn’t know what the law said, but she knew what parent reaction would be if they allowed Wally free rein. “Sorry, but if you insist, we’ll advise students not to talk to you until we can reach their parents.”

  “You’re out of line.” Wally sighed. “I understand you want to protect your kids, but the longer we wait, the colder the trail gets.”

  What he had just said finally sank through to Skye. “Are you saying she was murdered?”

  Skye screamed. It felt good, so she did it again. One more time, she decided, and then she could face returning to the chaos inside the high school. She had borrowed Trixie’s car keys and locked herself in the Mustang in order to blow off some steam and refrain from hitting someone.

  The question wasn’t whom to smack, but whom to smack first? The coach/guidance counselor, who hated sharing a room with Skye and kept trying to sneak into the guidance office and force Skye out? The insufferable coordinator from the co-op, who had finally dropped by but still refused to interact with any of the students, and instead had locked himself in with Homer, then had had the nerve to go out to lunch? Or Wally, who continued to try to freeze Skye with his indifference every time they were in the same room together?