Skye bit her tongue to stop from blurting out a retort containing the words “teacher’s pet.” She had noticed that the other teachers weren’t joining the conversation, and she knew this was because they didn’t want to get on the wrong side of one of the school’s queen-bee teachers.
Neither did Skye, so she held on to her smile and said,
“You know teenagers, they like to try whatever is currently new.”
Pru seemed unsatisfied with Skye’s answer, but didn’t pursue the matter. Instead, she said, “I hear you found another body. You must moonlight for the Grim Reaper.” Pru tittered, and several of her cronies laughed along with her.
Skye took a deep breath. It would be so easy to make a smart-alecky comeback and lose this opportunity. Pru Cormorant was gossip central for the school, and Skye wanted to know what she had heard.
Giving a small shrug, Skye allowed a look of distress to cross her face, and then with a catch in her voice said, “I know. Isn’t it awful? I’m sure glad the sheriff found the killer so fast. I simply couldn’t imagine who would want to murder such a nice man.”
Pru ran her fingers through her stringy dun-colored hair, tsking. “I’m surprised that you, a psychologist, were so easily taken in by such a con artist.”
“Beau was a con artist? Really?” Skye laid the naïveté on thick.
“Everyone in town knew.”
“You’re kidding. Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
“No one wanted to hurt dear Alana, of course.” Pru’s smile was superior. “And some people probably thought you hired him for the same reason so many other lonely women of a certain age did.”
“What?” The word slipped out. Skye did not like where this was going and knew she shouldn’t have allowed herself to be baited by the English teacher.
Pru licked her lips. “Well, he was extremely sexy and oh, so persuasive.” She paused, but when Skye didn’t respond, continued. “He was one of those real bad boys who are real good to women — at least in bed — but as a contractor he was hopeless. He hardly ever finished a job, and when he did, the work was so shoddy it had to be redone.”
“I see.” Skye refrained from hitting herself upside the head. How could she have not seen through him? Breathing deeply, she refocused. Recriminations at this point were useless. “But who did Beau cheat?”
Pru licked her lips again, this time as if about to sample a tasty morsel. “Let’s see.” Her pause was indisputably for effect.
“Did he work on the Bruefeld Estate?” one of the male science teachers asked. “You know, the one they’re turning into a spa.”
“No. They brought in a Chicago company to do that work,” Pru answered, sending a quelling look in the man’s direction. “But Joy Kessler had a horrible time with Hamilton. She hired him to remodel the building for her new business and he never finished. She ended up having to pay someone else to complete the work.”
“Oh, my.” Skye added Joy to her list of suspects to interrogate.
“Then there’s Jess Larson. You know, the new guy who bought the liquor store? He hired Beau to build that new banquet facility and bar, but after several months, he had to hire someone else, too.”
“So a guy fell for his charms, too. It wasn’t only lonely women.” Skye processed that piece of information, then asked, “Why didn’t any of these people file a complaint? I did check.”
Pru tilted her Pepsi can and finished the last few drops before answering. “I hear that he had something on them all, and they didn’t dare complain about his work.”
“You mean he was blackmailing them?” Pru flattened her soda can, crumbled her paper bag, and pushed back her chair. “I’m sure I couldn’t say. Everyone knows I never gossip.”
“Of course not,” Skye agreed. “But if you know something for a fact, it isn’t gossip.”
“Well, when I suggested to Joy that she sue Beau, and tried to give her the number for my nephew, the lawyer, she said to forget it. It would be more trouble than it was worth.” Pru disposed of her trash. “And later my nephew said that Jess had talked to him about filing a lawsuit, but called the next day and dropped it.”
“How interesting.” Pru’s nephew must be as much of a big mouth as his aunt. So much for attorney-client privilege.
Skye tried to think of anything else she could ask to keep up the flow of information, but nothing came to her in time.
Pru looked at the wall clock, then glanced pointedly at Skye still sitting on the sofa. “Now, unlike you, I have to get back to my classroom. The bell’s about to ring and we mustn’t leave the little darlings unattended.” Skye tensed to jump up, but then sat back. No matter what she did, there would always be some teachers who resented the freedom her job afforded compared to the con-strictions of a classroom. Thinking of Homer’s order to talk Pru out of writing scathing notes home about her students made Skye shake her head. She’d have a better chance of teaching Bingo to talk.
During the five minutes between the first lunch people filing out of the lounge and the second shift arriving, Skye sat absorbing what she had learned. Her glance swept the walls as she thought. Cork bulletin boards holding notices that had expired before the millennium changed were the only decoration, and they provided no inspiration.
She briefly considered sticking around to see what the next group of teachers would have to say, but decided she had used up her lunch period, and it wouldn’t be fair to take another. She had too much real work to do to steal time away from it for personal business. As it was, she would have to take home a report to write to make up for the time she had spent with Alana.
Once she got back to her office, the afternoon sped by.
Counseling sessions and classroom observations kept her busy until eighth period, when she finally got a chance to read Xenia’s file. Skye had closed the thick folder and was mulling over ways to help the girl adjust to Scumble River High when the dismissal bell rang. A few seconds later, Trixie Frayne burst into Skye’s office.
Skye hadn’t seen Trixie since her friend’s return from Lake Tahoe. It was good to see her looking as if she were a glowing seventeen again rather than an unhappy thirty-four.
Trixie and her husband, Owen, had experienced a bad patch in their relationship during the past summer, and they were still trying to make things better between them.
Owen was a serious man who worked hard to get ahead, while Trixie was more fun-loving and believed that all work and no play made for rich heirs. Both had been trying to learn to meet somewhere in the middle.
Trixie plopped into the chair opposite Skye’s desk and demanded, “What? I can’t even leave town for the weekend without you getting into trouble.”
“I am not in trouble.” Skye pulled out the bottom drawer of her desk and put her feet up, getting comfortable. She knew this wouldn’t be a short conversation. “A man was murdered. The sheriff found his killer. It’s over.”
“I wasn’t talking about the murder, although from what I hear the sheriff couldn’t find a library book if the Dewey decimal number was tattooed on his hand, so I doubt he has the real murderer.”
“Oh, you mean my house.” Skye wiggled in her chair.
“No problem there either. I’ve already found a contractor to replace Beau.”
“Not your house, you dork. Wally!” Trixie crossed her arms. “I hear you actually went on a real, honest-to-goodness date with him.”
“Who told you?”
“Who didn’t?” Trixie fluffed her short brown hair. “I even saw a picture.”
“What?” Skye’s feet hit the floor with a thump.
“It’s on the Internet.” Trixie smirked.
“You know how to surf the Net?”
“Not really. But since Owen bought the computer to keep the farm records, I’ve been teaching myself a little here and there. I’m a Freecell champ.” Trixie examined her hot pink nails, rubbing at a smear of ink on her index finger. “Anyway, someone left me a phone message saying to check out the
Bunco Babes Web site.”
“Shit!”
“Don’t worry. It’s a good picture.” Skye moaned. She’d never have dreamed Priscilla would be computer literate. Skye had been under the impression that except for the teenagers, most Scumble Riverites either didn’t have or didn’t know how to use computers. Now Trixie was telling her that Priscilla Van Horn even had a Web site. Clearly, it was time to rethink her assumption.
Maybe everyone in town was using computers except her.
“Do you want to come over and see it?”
“No. I know what we look like.” Skye shook her head.
“Is there any way you can get rid of the picture using your computer?”
“Not me. I’m a complete amateur. For that you’d need a hacker.”
“Terrific. Where would I find one of those in Scumble River?” Skye chewed her lip. “I wonder if Wally knows it’s there. And my mother.”
“As I said when I got here, how did you get into so much trouble? I was only gone three days.” Skye filled Trixie in on all that had transpired — the murder, the house, Alana’s kidnapping, the newspaper award, and, of course, Wally.
Trixie interrupted when she got to the police chief. “I thought you were going to hear Simon out before doing anything rash.”
“Well, as it turns out, he and I talked yesterday.” Skye explained May’s and Bunny’s part in bringing about the conversation.
“You’re kidding.” Trixie grinned. “I can’t believe May would collaborate with Bunny for any reason. She must really want Simon as a son-in-law.”
“I guess so. I’m currently not speaking to her, so I can’t ask how the whole plan came together.”
“I can just see you racing over to save the day.” Trixie shook her head. “Were you afraid that May was playing Wallop-the-Trollop?”
“Huh?”
“You know, like that game they have in the bowling alley, Whac-a-Mole. Doesn’t May call Bunny a trollop?”
“Among other things,” Skye answered, not quite following Trixie’s free association. “Anyway, I talked to Simon, and it didn’t help at all.”
“Oh?”
“He still insists he hasn’t done anything wrong, and I should trust him enough so that he shouldn’t have to explain.”
“That’s ridiculous. He goes on vacation alone, telling you he’s staying with his old college buddy Spike. Spike turns out to be a woman, and you’re not supposed to ask for an explanation? Please!”
“Exactly.” Skye frowned
“So it’s really over?”
“He’s leaving me no choice.” Skye’s frown deepened.
“How can I be with a man I caught cheating on me? Surely if he had a good excuse, he’d have used it.”
“True.” Trixie nodded, then reached to pat Skye’s hand.
“But you know, it’s like your Bel Air. Even if you traded it in for a brand-new Mercedes, you’d still have to deal with an occasional breakdown. And Wally won’t be any less of a problem than Simon.”
“Huh?” Trixie had lost Skye again.
“Because if it has tires or testicles, it’s going to be trouble.”
“So why do we bother with cars or men?”
“When they’re running well, it’s a fun ride.”
Skye laughed. “And?”
“Great weekends in Lake Tahoe.” Trixie smirked.
“Tell me everything.”
“When we checked into the honeymoon suite, they gave us this brochure, ‘Seventeen Ways to Use Your Private Hot Tub.’ ” When Trixie got to number three, “Add your favorite flavor of Jell-O,” she stopped and winked. “You get the picture.”
“Yes, I do.” Skye leered. “So, what is your favorite flavor?”
Trixie ignored Skye’s question and changed the subject.
“Anything else happen while I was gone?”
“We have a new student transferring in tomorrow.”
“Oh?”
When Skye finished giving her friend the rundown on Xenia Craughwell and her notorious behavior, Trixie asked,
“Shouldn’t a teenager like her be in some kind of private school?”
“Probably, but that would be the mother’s choice since Xenia isn’t special ed. The last school did a case study and didn’t find her eligible for services. They said she wasn’t emotionally disturbed, she was conduct disorder, and thus she didn’t qualify.”
“So what are you going to do with her?” Skye smiled and leaned toward her friend. “Ah, that’s where you come in.”
Eighteen-Wheeler
“No way!” Trixie squealed.
“Just for a little while,” Skye wheedled. “We need to see what Xenia’s really like.”
“That fifty-pound file sitting on your desk didn’t give you a clue?”
“She deserves a fresh start.” Trixie rolled her eyes, but Skye continued, “Besides, there’s some reason Xenia wanted to move to Scumble River. We need to know why.”
“She thinks we’re all country bumpkins she can twist around her finger?”
Skye took out a yellow pad. “That’s a possibility.” Jotting down Trixie’s suggestion under “motivation,” Skye added her own idea. “Or she wants to re-create herself.”
“Or?”
“Or she’s tracked her father down, and he lives here in town.”
Trixie’s eyes lit up. “What’s her dad’s name?”
“There wasn’t a birth certificate in her file. I need to ask her mother for it tomorrow.”
“I still don’t understand what making her my library as-sistant will accomplish.”
“I’m hoping she’ll bond with you, since you have such a good rapport with teens.” Skye figured a little flattery wouldn’t hurt her case. “She’s really smart, and somehow she’s kept learning, since her achievement tests show her way above grade level in all areas, so I suspect she likes to read.” Skye doodled on her pad. “Also, since she’ll be with you for her two study halls and before school, which are the most unstructured times of the day, you can see which kids she ends up hanging out with.”
“Where will you put her the rest of the time?”
“In the top-level classes. I’m gambling she’ll like the challenge, and those kids will be a good influence on her.” Trixie’s expression was doubtful, but she said, “Okay, I’ll take her on one condition.”
“What?”
“You admit you don’t think Sheriff Peterson has Beau Hamilton’s murderer, and you tell me what you’re up to in that case.”
Skye weighed her options, then gave in. “You’re right. I don’t think it was a drug deal gone bad like the sheriff has decided. I’m planning to talk to some of Beau’s unsatisfied customers this afternoon, as I soon as I check on my new contractor.”
“I’m coming with you.”
“Not a good idea.”
“Why?” Trixie demanded.
“Because I need to make my visits seem casual rather than an interrogation.”
“How will you do that?”
Skye considered the people she needed to talk to. “Jess Larson should be easy enough. I’ll stop at his store and buy something.”
“Why can’t I come with you?”
“Because it doesn’t take two of us to pick up a bottle of wine.”
Trixie frowned but didn’t argue. “Who else are you going to talk to?”
“Joy Kessler. She recently opened that new exercise place for women, Joy’s Jym, and offered me a free intro-ductory session.”
“I could go with you for that. I got a coupon in my mail for a free session, too.”
Skye looked Trixie up and down, then raised an eyebrow.
“And you would need to exercise why?” Trixie was a size four and never gained an ounce, no matter what she ate.
“Everyone needs to exercise. Size doesn’t matter.” Skye thought it over. “Okay, the two of us going to work out together shouldn’t set off any alarm bells.” Skye got up and started to gather her possessions. “He
re’s the plan. I’ll stop and talk to Jess as soon as I leave here, then check on my contractor, change clothes and meet you at Joy’s at five thirty.”
“Roger. Five thirty at Joy’s Jym.”
Trixie and Skye left the building together. Trixie sped away first, gravel spraying out from under the wheels of her car. Skye’s exit was more sedate; fishtailing a ’ Chevy was like peeling rubber with a tank.
She turned out of the parking lot and headed toward the Brown Bag Liquor Store. If she was lucky, she’d get there before the after-work crowd, and Jess would be available to talk. She didn’t know him well — he was new to town, having purchased the business from his aunt when she retired last November — but he had seemed pretty open when she had needed to ask him some questions in February.
As she parked, Skye looked across the street at her Uncle Charlie’s Up A Lazy River Motor Court. Its lot was empty.
Not many people visited the area this late in September. The weather was too cold for swimming and boating, only doves and squirrels were in season to hunt, and the leaves hadn’t reached their best colors yet.
Skye pushed open the door of the Brown Bag, her nose twitching at the yeasty smell of beer and stale cigarette smoke. The liquor store was empty except for Jess, who was sitting behind the cash register reading, but she could hear the sound of a television and male voices from the adjacent bar.
Jess looked up and waved as the bells over the door jin-gled. Skye waved back and headed toward the wine aisle.
This was perfect. He was alone. She quickly made her selection, grabbing a bottle of Zinfandel, then slowed her steps as she approached the counter, trying to appear casual.
“Hi.” Skye put the wine down. “Looks pretty deserted in here.”
Jess stood and rang up her purchase. “It’ll get busier in an hour or so when the guys start getting off work.”
Murder of a Real Bad Boy Page 16
