“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 W
ally 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 rec
ognize 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—”
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