As she passed a row of windows, she glanced outside and flinched. The sun’s rays bouncing off the totally white landscape was blinding. More snow was predicted for later that afternoon, and the roads leading out of town were still hazardous due to drifting.
But for now, the local streets and parking lots were clear, and school was in session. Skye hoped that meant all the kids scheduled for preschool screening—or, as she liked to call it, preschool screaming—appointments would show up and she wouldn’t have to try to reschedule thirty-two three-and four-year-olds.
Shivering, she stepped back from the window. Now if the heat would just kick in, they’d be in business. School district policy mandated that the furnace be turned down to sixty degrees during the night, and this part of the building was the last to warm back up.
Previously this wing had been rented out to a church group, but they had found a better facility and moved during the summer. The school board was now trying to figure out whether to bring it up to code for classroom use or to tear it down and start over.
It was not the best location for preschool screening—it gave parents a unfortunate first impression of the school district and the cheerless atmosphere made the kids ill at ease—but Skye had learned that conditions were rarely ideal when one worked in public education.
She had asked the custodian to position rolling bulletin boards in the middle of the two large rooms. She set up the various testing equipment—cognitive, fine-motor, gross-motor, and speech/language—in these four smaller spaces, then took the files out to the registration area by the doorway. A card table served as the check-in counter and faced several folding chairs that constituted the parents’ waiting area.
Skye sat at the table and started to sort the folders according to time of appointments. A cold draft made her look up. That was odd. The door remained closed, and she didn’t see any open windows. She blew on her fingers to warm them, glad she had worn a heavy cardigan with a turtleneck underneath.
Where was everyone? The preschool screening team should be here by now. Suddenly she was aware of an unsettling silence. Usually schools were full of noises.
Abruptly she flashed to the scene at the Addisons’. It had been awful finding them like that. They certainly weren’t the first murder victims she had encountered, but something about this discovery bothered her more than the others.
Skye chewed her lip. Why? What was different this time? Maybe just the sense of rage and violence that hovered in the atmosphere, like the charged air before a tornado touched down.
“Skye. Skye, are you alright?” A voice finally penetrated her dark thoughts, and Skye jumped, knocking over the stack of files she had been working on. The speaker was Abby Fleming, the school nurse.
She gathered up the scattered folders. “Sorry, yes, I’m fine. Just daydreaming.” She craned her neck. Abby was tall—five-foot-ten—with the athletic build of a pro tennis player. “You ready for the onslaught?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
“Did you find a good spot for your equipment?”
“Yep.” Abby took a barrette from the pocket of her skirt and clipped back her white-blond hair. “I’ve got the vision test and audiometer set up in the pastor’s old office.”
“Great. I’ll use the other office to score the tests and explain the results to the parents.” Skye looked at her watch. It was quarter after eight. “Where’s the rest of the team? The first group of kids is scheduled to arrive in fifteen minutes.”
“Relax.” Abby pointed down the hall. “Here they come now.”
As soon as the four women spotted Skye, they surrounded her, demanding information about the Addisons’ murders. She answered their questions, then listened to them talk about the victims.
One of the kindergarten teachers stated, “It was obvious from the day they moved here that they thought Scumble River was beneath them.”
“How long ago was that?” Skye asked. She knew the Addisons hadn’t been living in town when she left.
“I think it was about ten years ago,” the other kindergarten teacher offered.
“Where were the Addisons from originally?” Skye thought she recalled Barbie talking about missing the East Coast, but couldn’t remember for sure.
“Somewhere in Connecticut, but they lived in Winnetka just before moving here.”
“So they don’t have any family in the area?” Skye asked.
“No. And no children. Barbie made it clear they didn’t have children because they didn’t want them, not because they weren’t able to.” Before the teacher could elaborate, a gust of wind and a blast of crying signaled that the first parent and child had arrived.
Skye refocused her thoughts on the task at hand. “Does everyone know what they’re supposed to do?”
The two kindergarten teachers and the special education teacher nodded, and went in search of their stations.
Belle Whitney, the speech therapist, grinned. “Gee, I wonder what I should do? Maybe the speech and language tests?”
Skye smiled back. “Got it in one guess.” Belle wore her ash-blond hair in elaborate curls, with a big bow at the back. Her pale pink dress had rows of lace around the neck, sleeves, and hem. Even her eyeglass frames sported loops and curlicues. She looked like she was auditioning for the role of either Scarlett O’Hara or a wedding cake, but in fact, she was a great speech pathologist and the kids loved her.
Belle fluttered her fingers. “Later.”
Other parents and children quickly followed. Appointments had been scheduled at fifteen minute intervals, and everyone was kept hopping. Most of the preschoolers could be jollied through the experience with soothing words, stickers, and promises from their parents of later treats, but some viewed the screening as if it were an alien abduction and they were about to be probed.
Skye found herself trying to wheedle one such munchkin. “Come on, Zach. Let’s go play some fun games.”
He looked at her through slitted eyes, folded his arms, and refused to budge.
“You can earn five stickers.”
He shook his head.
“Your mom told me she would take you to McDonald’s for a Happy Meal if you tried your best.”
For a moment Skye thought she had him, but instead he opened his mouth and howled, “Moooom … meeee.”
His mother came running and knelt beside him. “Please, honey, go play the nice lady’s games.”
“Don’t wanna.” His bottom lip quivered.
Skye asked, “What type of concerns did you have about your son?”
“Concerns?” The woman seemed confused.
“For example, does he have difficulty pronouncing certain words, or have you noticed problems with cutting or coloring, or delayed speech?” Skye zeroed in on her best guess. “Or maybe behavioral issues?”
“No.” The mother looked insulted. “Of course not. I brought him in because he’s gifted.”
“I’m sorry, but that’s not what preschool screening is for. We’re looking for children who might need some extra help, so that when they start kindergarten they won’t be so far behind.”
“But I want him to start kindergarten next year. He only misses the cutoff by a few days. His birthday is the end of August.”
“We do have a procedure for that. You’ll need to talk to Mrs. Greer, the principal. She’ll tell you what to do to see if your son qualifies for early entrance. We look at those children in the spring.”
The mother’s galled expression said that her time had been wasted. She hustled her son into his coat and out the door without another word.
The screening team took a lunch break at twelve-thirty. Skye had arranged for her mother to drop off Italian beef sandwiches, chips, and a fruit platter. It was waiting for them when they sat down. They wolfed down the food, having only twenty minutes before the afternoon appointments started, and rushed back to their stations.
Belle and Skye, the last to return, walked down the hall together.
&nb
sp; “So, are you looking into the Addisons’ murders?” Belle asked.
“No. Why should I?” Skye wondered why she was asking.
“You seem to be good at solving mysteries,” Belle answered, then commented, “Ken Addison was my doctor for a while.”
“But you changed to another physician?”
Belle nodded. “I felt he didn’t have my best interest at heart, and when I went for a second opinion, that doctor didn’t agree with his treatment plan at all.”
Skye wondered what was wrong with Belle, but didn’t feel she could ask since her colleague hadn’t volunteered her diagnosis. “Are you okay now?”
“I’m getting there.” Belle paused, then said, “But if you do decide to investigate the murders, a talk with Dr. Addison’s office manager could be a real eye opener.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Skye promised as the two women went back to work.
The afternoon passed quickly, and it was after three by the time Skye ushered out the final parent and child. The rest of the team had already left, and Skye felt as if she were ready to drop from exhaustion. Her cold had returned with a vengeance and she had started coughing again. Dealing with three-and four-year-olds was an intense experience—seven hours of being constantly on. It wasn’t like an office job where you could take a break to make a phone call, get a cup of coffee, or go to the bathroom whenever you felt like it. There was no putting a preschooler on hold.
Skye was packing everything away, dreaming of a hot bath and a good book, when she realized she had forgotten that she was supposed to be at the high school at three-fifteen. She had a meeting with students interested in working on the newly formed school newspaper.
“Hi, my name is Bitsy Kessler. I’m a sophomore and I want to be on the school paper because I think it would be fun to, like, you know, find out things about people and then tell other people what you found out.”
Frannie Ryan snorted. She was a size fourteen in a size six world and took a lot of flack from the other kids because of it. She had a sharp mind and an even sharper tongue, and didn’t suffer fools gladly.
Skye shot her a censorious look. Frannie rolled her eyes but kept quiet, except to offer her name when it was her turn to introduce herself.
Frannie was Xavier Ryan’s daughter, and Xavier worked for Simon. Skye had first met Frannie when a popular classmate was killed. She had gotten to know Frannie better a couple of months ago when she and Justin Boward, found a body during the Scumble River bicentennial. Frannie and Justin had come to Skye with their discovery and helped her solve the case.
Justin, next to introduce himself, was tall and skinny with thick glasses that hid his best feature, sparkling brown eyes. Skye had first started seeing him for counseling when he was in the eighth grade. He had gained a lot of confidence since then. Instead of being withdrawn and hiding his intelligence, he had become a leader among his small group of friends. Skye counted him among her few true successes.
The rest of the would-be newspaper staff consisted of two boys and three girls who were all part of the crowd Justin and Frannie hung out with.
“It’s nice to see you all.” Skye tried to make everyone feel welcome. “Our first order of business is to come up with a name for our paper.”
Bitsy’s hand shot up. “I think we should call it the Scumble River High School Scallion.”
Where is Trixie when I need her? Skye thought. Trixie Frayne was Skye’s best friend and the cosponsor of the student newspaper. Unfortunately, she had been called out of town Tuesday afternoon—her husband’s mom had been rushed to the hospital. Trixie had phoned Skye yesterday evening to say her mother-in-law had died, and she wouldn’t be back until after Thanksgiving.
Skye focused back on the matter at hand. Keeping her face expressionless, she said, “Interesting suggestion.” Her training as a psychologist came in handy at times like this. “Any others?”
“You mean something besides calling our paper after an onion?” Frannie asked with a smirk.
Skye knew she had to set the right tone before things got out of hand. “I was wrong. We have to do one other thing before we name the paper. You all need to know what I expect of you.”
She sucked on her cough drop and deliberately waited until the silence grew uncomfortable, then said, “I want you all to practice random acts of intelligence and senseless acts of self-control. Everyone understand?”
Frannie tucked a strand of her wavy brown hair behind her ear. “You want us to be nice to each other.”
“Right.” Skye smiled at the girl. She hoped that as Frannie’s self-confidence grew, the teen wouldn’t feel the need to be so hard on her peers.
It took a lot of negotiation and suggestions, but after several names were proposed and dismissed, the group finally agreed to call the student newspaper the Scumble River High School Scoop.
Skye checked the time. It was nearly five o’clock. “Here’s your homework assignment.” She waited for the groans to subside. “I want each of you to come up with ideas for three stories and a column.”
Bitsy’s hand shot up again. “Like, when’re they due?”
“I want them in my mailbox by next Wednesday.” Skye looked around the circle. “That way I can go over them during Thanksgiving vacation. We can meet the Tuesday after that and discuss who’s going to do what.”
As the teenagers shuffled out, Skye noticed Bitsy edge Frannie out of the way and take Justin’s arm. Bitsy twisted a copper ringlet around her finger and her kelly-green eyes stared intently at Justin as she asked, “Do you want to work on our story ideas together?”
Justin appeared surprised, and he didn’t answer until they had moved out of Skye’s hearing.
Skye watched as Frannie stood by herself a moment, then joined the other girls and whispered, “Do you think her mother named her Bitsy because she couldn’t spell Bimbo?”
They all giggled and moved away.
Skye tapped her desk with her pencil. So much for her speech about random acts of kindness.
The temperature had dropped again while she was inside the high school, but at least no fluffy white flakes were falling. As she walked to her car, Skye reminded herself she had to stop at the grocery store on the way home and check to see if they’d received any shipments of food. If they hadn’t, she and Bunny would be eating Bingo’s Fancy Feast for supper.
The phone was ringing when Skye got home.
It was Simon and after they exchanged greetings, he said, “How’s your cold?”
“I took some medicine that seems to have stopped my coughing and help me breathe easier.”
“Good. Wally asked if you and I would go to the emergency meeting the GUMBs are holding tonight. He wants us to see what everyone is saying about the Addisons. He’s not a member, and even if he were, no one would talk freely in his presence.”
“True. But how did I get drafted?”
“Well …” Simon faltered. “I might have mentioned that you were a member of the women’s auxiliary and that you were really good at getting people to open up.”
“I see. Interesting. Does this mean both you and Wally want me to help investigate the Addisons’ murder?”
Simon took so long to answer that Skye thought they’d been disconnected. Finally, he said, “Well, yes, I guess it does.” There was a trace of laughter in his voice. “Maybe you should ask Wally to put you on salary as the official police psychologist.”
“Maybe I should.” The idea had some merit. She’d have to think about it.
CHAPTER 8
The King is dead. Long live the King!
—French proclamation
The GUMB Assembly Hall was an old brick building that had been the Scumble River Grand Hotel back in the town’s coal mining heyday. The GUMBs had purchased it several years ago and have been renovating it ever since.
The place was buzzing. As Simon and Skye paused in the vestibule to hang up their coats and take off their boots, they could hear a cacophony of raised
voices.
“Am I glad to see you two!” Charlie clapped each of them on the back. “I cannot believe how pathetic this organization has gotten.”
“I didn’t realize you were a member.” Skye couldn’t recall ever seeing Uncle Charlie at a meeting or function since she’d joined.
“There’re a lot of us old-timers who are members but stopped coming around when the new guard started changing things.” Charlie scanned the room. “Looks like we might have to take it in hand again. It’d be a shame if these bozos brought the whole club down with their idiocy.”
Skye followed Charlie’s gaze. They were standing in what had been the hotel’s ballroom. Folding chairs filled the center. A small stage took up the front of the room, and a mahogany bar stretched across the back. Supposedly Ulysses S. Grant had drunk there, but Skye was skeptical. A lot of places in Illinois claimed to have quenched Grant’s legendary thirst.
Small knots of men were scattered around the periphery. Many were red faced and gesturing wildly. A group of women gathered in the back, talking in lowered voices.
Skye gave Simon a meaningful look. “I see someone I need to speak to. Save me a seat.”
As she joined one of the clusters, she was just in time to hear Hilary Zello say, “Ken had a real short attention span. He could get bored in the middle of surgery. He needed a mistress just to break up the monogamy.”
Several of the women tittered, but no one corrected Hilary’s malapropism.
The five women in the circle all had a sameness about their appearance that came from having unlimited time and money to spend on themselves. Their hair was all some shade of blond, their nails manicured into pink or red ovals, and their clothes the most costly Marshall Field had to offer.
Skye knew most of them, at least on a superficial level. She had gone to school with Lu Hershaw Ginardi, Barbie’s best friend. Lu, a senior, had taken an instant dislike to freshman Skye. Skye never quite figured out what she had done to attract her wrath, but Lu had taken every opportunity to torment her. She still seemed barely able to tolerate Skye’s company.
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