“Ginger”—Skye turned to her cousin—“your mom said you and Flip went to a big party Saturday night.” She decided to try a variation of the same ruse that had worked with Kevin. “Did you have a good time?”
“It was all right for a class reunion.” Ginger tucked a strand of baby-fine dishwater blond hair behind her ear. “You know how those are. Heck, we see the people we like all the time, and no one from out of town ever shows up, even though this was our big one-five.”
“Yeah. That’s a shame.” Skye hadn’t attended her ten-year reunion, and her class hadn’t had another one. “Where was it held?”
“The Brown Bag.” Ginger picked up an emery board and started filing her nails. “It would have been more fun at the rec club. We could have built a big bonfire and brought our own booze, which would have been a whole lot cheaper, but the committee wouldn’t listen to me. They wanted it all fancy, but Jess kicked us out at two.”
Jess Larson owned the Brown Bag Liquor Store, Bar, and Banquet Hall.
“Two a.m.?”
“Uh-huh.” Ginger nodded. “He said something about not being able to serve drinks after that.”
“And Flip was with you the whole time?”
“Yeah.” Ginger scowled. “Believe me, with all those divorcées on the prowl, I never let him out of my sight.”
Once she knew Flip had an alibi, Skye made her excuses and rushed to the skating rink. It was a few minutes after seven when she arrived, and Wally was already there. He flashed his lights to show her where he was parked, and she pulled into the spot next to him. The lot was packed, and she wondered how he’d saved the space. If he’d been driving one of the police cruisers, she could understand no one wanting to be beside him, but he had his blue Thunderbird—a fortieth birthday present from his father.
Wally and Skye met in front of their vehicles, and he held her at arm’s length, then gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Spiffy outfit.”
“Swell.” Skye grinned. The skating rink must have brought the fifties to both their minds. “You know I always think you look hot.”
“Why, thank you, darlin’.” Wally steered them through the lot and onto the sidewalk. “I ran home and changed clothes after the commissioners’ meeting. If we take a tumble while we’re skating, I didn’t think it would look too good to do it in uniform.”
“True.” Skye smiled. “But we’re not going to fall.” Wally didn’t know she’d been roller-skating champion of her eighth-grade class.
The exterior of the skate center looked different at night. The last time Skye had seen the rink, she’d wondered whether it was about to be torn down. Now shadows hid the peeling paint and hinted at what the building could look like if Milton was able to restore it fully. A shaft of light from the fixture above the front door illuminated the entrance.
Leaves blew over the sidewalk, making it slippery, and Wally steadied Skye as her foot slid. “Did you talk to everyone who was mad at Risé?” Wally held one of the double glass doors open.
“All except Hugo.” Skye stepped into the foyer. “Charlie, Tomi, Kevin, and Flip all have alibis.”
“Martinez isn’t finished with the background check on Risé, but so far she’s clean as a whistle. The woman hasn’t even had a parking ticket.”
“Did Officer Martinez find anything on Kayla?” Skye asked.
“Nothing we didn’t already know.” Wally shrugged. “She’s exactly what you’d expect of a small-town good girl. No one had anything bad to say about her, and the dean at the Chicago School of Film and Photography spoke highly of her. He said she’d already won a couple of competitions.”
“I wonder if the other students were jealous.” They stopped at the entrance to the rink.
“Martinez is going up there tomorrow to check that out.”
Skye nodded, then looked around. Milton had refinished the floor, laid new carpet, put in a drop ceiling, and installed nightclub lighting. Tables and chairs were positioned behind the rail, and a snack bar was located in the rear.
“If you two are through making your grand entrance, maybe you could get the hell out of the way so someone else could get in.”
“What’s your rush?” Wally’s voice was genial, but he gripped Skye’s arm and didn’t move.
Skye turned and saw that the person trying to get around them was—speak of the devil—her cousin Hugo. He held his wife’s hand tightly, and Victoria didn’t seem happy.
“Some of us have other places to be tonight and need to keep moving,” Hugo sneered. “Unlike the police, we don’t get a salary if we don’t hustle.”
Wally patted his flat stomach. “That’s right. They pay me to sit around and eat donuts.” After making sure Hugo got the message, he drew Skye aside and made a sweeping gesture. “Be my guest.”
Victoria muttered as she went past. “Some of us don’t need to make a big deal in order to draw all eyes to us.”
Huh? Skye had no idea where that had that come from. Victoria had almost sounded jealous, but that couldn’t be it. She looked like a goddess. Smooth blond hair fell straight to the middle of her back, blue eyes shone from a sun-kissed complexion, and the short indigo halter dress she wore molded to her slim, toned body.
Once Hugo and his wife were out of earshot, Skye said to Wally, “I used to feel sorry for Victoria—Hugo’s one of the most insufferable men I know. But she just lost a lot of my sympathy.”
“Don’t be too hard on her.” Wally took Skye’s hand and ran his fingers over her inner wrist. “It’s hard for someone like her, who has always gotten along on her looks, to realize that sometimes that’s not enough.”
“What do you mean?”
“Victoria doesn’t think you’re as beautiful as she is, but you get in the paper all the time, and now that you’re engaged, that’s all anyone can talk about.”
“Not really.”
“Yes, really.” Wally kissed her palm.
“You know, Hugo didn’t seem quite like himself tonight.” Skye frowned.
“Yeah.” Wally’s grin was sharklike. “I noticed the improvement right away.”
“I’m not kidding.” Skye bit her lip. “He’s usually a lot . . . uh . . . smoother, more unctuous. I wonder what brought about the change.”
“Maybe you can find out when you talk to him tomorrow.” Wally placed his palm on the small of her back. “Shall we?”
They entered the outer rink area, and Skye recognized most of the group milling around. Everyone who was anyone in town was present.
“Why are all these people here?” Skye wrinkled her brow and whispered to Wally. “Most of them seem to be doing more talking than skating.”
“Same reason we are.” Wally cupped her elbow, and they moved toward a man standing behind a counter. “To show support for a new business in town.”
“Funny they didn’t do that for Tales and Treats,” Skye muttered.
“Milton’s lived in Scumble River for the past seventeen years.” Wally raised an eyebrow. “You know how things work around here.”
Milton Leigh had short brown hair that resembled the growth on a Chia Pet. He was long and lean, with full lips framed by wrinkles. Skye couldn’t tell whether he was forty or fifty or maybe even older.
Wally shook hands with the skate center owner and said, “Milton, I don’t think you know my fiancée, Skye Denison. Skye, this is my old friend Milton Leigh.”
Skye shook hands and said, “The rink looks wonderful, Mr. Leigh.”
“Call me Milton.” His gray eyes were shrewd. “You must be the mayor’s niece.”
“Yes.” Skye stopped herself from making a face. “I must be.”
Milton was dressed in jeans and a cotton plaid shirt with pearl snaps. He reminded Skye of a 1960s Grand Ole Opry star, and she wondered whether he could sing.
He looked her over and said to Wally, “Big improvement over the last filly you hooked up with.”
Skye narrowed her eyes. She really didn’t like being compared to livestock, ev
en if she was being awarded a blue ribbon.
“No offense intended.” Milton grinned at her sour expression. “You have to excuse an old cowboy.”
“Of course.” Skye changed the subject. “You’ve got a big crowd tonight.”
“Yep.” Milton nodded. “But these people aren’t my bread and butter. I bet you none of them will even lace on a pair of skates.”
“Oh? It’s nice that they’re here to support you, though, right?”
“Only a few, like your fella, are here for me.” Milton caressed his big silver belt buckle. “Most are like Hugo over there. He needs to keep his finger stirring the pot and riling everyone up. He’s really got a bee in his bonnet this time.” Milton shook his head. “Now, are you two going to skate or what?”
“Do you think he meant Hugo’s problem with Risé?” Skye asked Wally as they put on the roller skates Milton had handed them.
“Maybe.” Wally took Skye’s hand, and they glided into the rink. “Guess you better come up with a good reason to talk to Hugo tomorrow, because it’s a sure thing I wouldn’t get anywhere questioning him. He’d just call his daddy and complain about police harassment.”
CHAPTER 18
The Invisible Man
It was already nine thirty Thursday morning when Skye and Caroline Greer, the elementary school principal, walked into the main office. The Pupil Personnel Service meeting had gone more than an hour longer than usual because twin six-year-old boys with special needs had moved into the district the day before, and the staff had to hurry to prepare for their intake conferences.
Caroline and Skye were engrossed in discussing the complicated case when Fern Otte, the school secretary, thrust Skye aside and screeched, “Arnold Underwood is gone!”
“When was he last seen?” Caroline, a tiny woman with a cloud of white hair, was known for her unruffled demeanor and ability to keep her staff calm.
“When his class went to gym at eight forty.” Fern wrung her hands. She was extremely petite, and her affinity for brown clothing made her look like a wren. True to form, today she wore a taupe sweater and pants.
“PE class is only half an hour.” Caroline frowned. “Why didn’t you come and get me when his teacher first reported him missing?”
“She just this minute told me,” Fern mewled. “She didn’t realize Arnold was gone until the speech therapist came to get him for his session.”
“I see.” Caroline nodded, then directed, “Put out a PA announcement that any staff member who is not with children must report to the office immediately. As they come in, assign them to halls A and C, then the playground and parking lot, in that order. His room is in hallway B. I’ll be checking that corridor.” Next she focused on Skye. “You look in the gymnasium, kitchen, and stage.”
“Okay.” Skye headed out of the office but stopped to ask the principal, “Are you calling the police?”
“Not until we’ve conducted a thorough search.” Caroline’s tone was intractable.
“How about the boy’s parents?” Skye persisted.
“No need to worry them until we’re sure he’s really missing, and not just hiding somewhere. You know how ten-year-olds can be.”
Skye wasn’t sure what Caroline meant by that. Did she think all ten-year-olds were prone to disappearing? However, Skye was willing to follow the principal’s orders, at least until they’d searched the building and grounds. After that, if he was still unaccounted for, she would call 911 with or without the older woman’s blessing.
When Skye got to the gym, she found it empty except for an old-fashioned physician’s scale, a long Formica-topped table, and a chair. All three were positioned in the exact middle of the wooden floor. Except for those three items, the cavernous space was completely open, with nowhere for anyone to hide.
The elementary school didn’t have locker rooms, so after a quick glance around, Skye moved on to the storage area under the stage, which was padlocked. Making a mental note to get a key, Skye walked the perimeter of the empty platform. Once she was sure there were no hiding places, she parted the velvet curtains at the back and went through them. This spot had been converted to an office for the PE teacher.
There wasn’t anyone around, so Skye called out, “Yoo-hoo, anybody here?”
A soft rustle came from behind the stacks of athletic equipment, and Todd Grind, the gym teacher, poked his head around a tower of boxes. “Hey, Skye. What’s up? Another one of your SpEd kids needs babying?”
Skye fought to keep her expression neutral as she registered Todd’s use of the derogatory label. She reminded herself that he was as prickly as his brush-cut hairstyle. Still, she couldn’t allow a remark like that to go unchallenged. “Todd, the students receiving special education services are everyone’s responsibility.” Hoping to win him with an athletic metaphor, she said, “You know, a team effort.”
“A team effort is everyone doing what I tell them to.” Todd stuck his hands in the pockets of his warm-up jacket and shot Skye a cocky grin.
“Which is why I hate sports,” Skye muttered under her breath, then gave up trying to reform the PE teacher and explained about the missing boy. When she finished she asked, “Have you seen Arnold since that time?”
“What are you talking about?” Todd asked, then walked to his desk, flipped open an attendance book, and ran his finger down the page. “Porky wasn’t in class today.”
Skye started to remind him that she had asked the faculty not to call Arnold by that nickname and to discourage its use among his classmates, but she knew she’d be wasting her breath. Todd was surrounded by the Bozone—a substance that encircled clowns like him, stopping any intelligent suggestions from penetrating.
However, she would speak to Caroline once the boy was found. As far as she knew, everyone on the staff except Todd had complied with her request to use Arnold’s given name. But if the PE teacher didn’t stop, neither would the other kids, and Skye did not want the awful nickname following the poor kid to the junior high. If she didn’t nip it in the bud now, he’d be Porky for the rest of his life.
“Do you have the key to the storage area under the stage?” When Todd nodded, she asked, “Could you check and make sure he didn’t get in there somehow?”
“If it will make you happy,” the PE teacher sneered. “But Porky’s too lazy to have gone far.”
“Notify the office immediately if you find him.” Skye had to get out of there before she slapped Todd. “I’m going to keep searching.”
The gymnasium also served as the cafeteria, and the kitchen was connected through a set of swinging steel doors and a large window with a rolling metal shutter. It was too early for the lunch ladies to have arrived, so the space was empty.
As Skye opened all the cupboards, refrigerators, and even the ovens, she pondered the fact that the boy had disappeared between the time his teacher had walked her class to the gym and when Todd had taken roll call. She was sure that was significant, but why?
Still no sign of the ten-year-old anywhere, and she nibbled her thumbnail. Was there anywhere else he could be in here? Her gazed scanned the walls, stopping at a square that looked a little like a boarded-up window. She stepped over to it and tapped.
It was definitely hollow on the other side. She examined the painted plywood section, trying to figure out what it could be. Finally, she remembered that there was a basement under the old part of the school that was used for storage. This must be a dumbwaiter they used to transport supplies to and from the kitchen.
Putting both palms on the wood, Skye pushed, and the panel slid up smoothly. Squeezed inside was Arnold Underwood, and he wasn’t moving. She swallowed a cry, reaching out to touch the boy’s hand to check for a pulse.
Arnold’s eyes popped open, and he screamed. He was big for his age, barely fitting in the small compartment, but he backed up as far as he could get against the rear wall, then crouched there, panting.
“Arnold, it’s Ms. Denison. Remember, I came into your class and talke
d about making friends. We did little plays about different situations.”
He took a gulping breath and nodded. He’d had a rough life. His parents were poor and rented an old run-down house not too far from Skye’s family farm. They’d moved there from Joliet when Arnold was eight, and he’d had a hard time fitting into the already established pecking order of his second-grade class. The kids in Scumble River, like their parents, were slow to warm up to newcomers.
“Can you get out by yourself?”
He nodded again and scooted to the edge but stopped. “Am I in trouble?”
“I don’t know.” She was unsure what Caroline would do and unwilling to lie to the boy. “But I’ll try to help you. Why did you hide?”
He sat with his feet dangling over the edge and mumbled, “Because.”
“Was someone mean to you?” Skye wasn’t sure what to do. They hadn’t covered a boy hiding in a dumbwaiter in her school-psychology training, and she doubted it was in the Best Practices manual.
A tear ran down his cheek, and he wiped it away with the back of his hand.
Skye felt her throat close. She had to do something. Her mind raced, and she suddenly put together the pieces of the puzzle. “Is it because today is weighing and measuring day in gym?”
Arnold looked at her as if she had just read his mind. “How did you know?”
“I hated that day when I was in school, too.” Skye touched his hand. “Do they still yell out how much you weigh so everyone hears it?”
He nodded without looking at her and began picking at a scab on his arm.
“I used to pretend to be sick that day,” Skye told him, then had another thought. “Is Mr. Grind cool about the whole thing? My teacher was pretty horrible. She always made a nasty comment if she thought anyone weighed too much.”
“He’s not cool at all. He’s mean,” Arnold blurted out. “He calls me Porky and makes pig noises.”
“I’m so sorry.” Skye helped him out of the dumbwaiter. “He’s very wrong to do that.” As she escorted the boy to the office she said, “And don’t worry. I’ll make sure you aren’t in trouble for this.”
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