Skye ambushed the principal as he walked into the school at seven-thirty, cornering him between the teachers’ mailboxes and the front counter. “Homer, I need to talk to you.”
The tufts of hair sticking out from his ears twitched in annoyance. “I’m late for an administrators’ meeting. Can’t this wait?”
“It’ll only take a second.” She outlined her plan to have the homeroom teachers make a brief statement about the fire and announce Skye’s availability to any student who wanted to talk. “Is that okay?”
“Yeah, sure.” Homer edged away from her and slipped through the door of his office. A second later his head popped around the corner like a giant jack-in-the-box. “You better stick around here all day today. I’ll let the other principals know I need you.” He disappeared back into his office without waiting for her assent.
Skye had planned on staying at the high school anyway, but it would have been nice if Homer at least pretended he was asking, rather than issuing an order. She sighed and headed to the photocopy machine. Who was she kidding? Homer thought of her as his lackey, and that was pretty much the reality of her situation.
After putting information about the fire and its aftermath in all the homeroom teachers’ boxes, Skye went in search of Trixie.
She found her friend standing on a stepladder stapling book jackets to the wall. “Hey, what’s up?”
Trixie swung around, swayed, and then hopped off the ladder, making a perfect four-point landing. “I was just changing the display. Valentine’s Day is officially over.”
“Can’t say I’m sorry to see it gone.” Skye followed Trixie to the circulation desk and leaned a hip against the counter. “How’re things with your mother-in-law’s estate?”
“Owen’s meeting with someone today to see if we have enough equity in the farm for a loan.” Trixie changed the subject without looking up from the stack of books she was processing. “Any news on Frannie?”
“She’s home from the hospital and doing fine. She’ll probably be at school today.”
“I take it we’re canceling the school newspaper meeting after school?” Trixie asked.
“I think we should, don’t you?”
“Yes. I’m busy Tuesday and Wednesday. Can we reschedule for Thursday?”
Skye flipped open her appointment book and checked. “Sure. I’m free that afternoon.”
“Good. I’ll let the kids know.” Trixie started to reshelve books. “How about the fire? Anything on that?”
Skye followed her. “It looks like it was deliberately started.” She lowered her voice. “Maybe to cover up a murder.”
“Do they know who the victim is?”
“Not that I’ve heard. Wally seems a bit … distracted.” Before she could say anything else, the first bell rang. “I’d better get to my office. I told the homeroom teachers they could send any kids who were upset about the fire to see me.” She waved and rushed off.
As Skye hurried down the hallway, she noticed that the students appeared the same as they did most Mondays—some hyper, some sluggish, and some asleep on their feet. During the next hour, only one girl showed up at her office. For the most part, the kids seemed to think the fire had been no big deal. She was puzzled but relieved.
With the exception of gym classes being held in the band room, school went on as if nothing had happened.
At nine o’clock there was a knock on her office door, and Arlen Yoder sidled into the room. He was tall and broad and could easily find work as a body double for the Incredible Hulk. The teenager stopped a few feet past the threshold and said into his chest, “Really, Ms. Denison. It was an accident.”
So much had happened over the weekend, it took her a moment to remember she had asked to see the boy about the false alarm incident last Friday. “Sit down,” Arlen. You understand that whatever you say to me today is not confidential? I’ll be sharing our conversation with school staff and your parents.
He nodded.
“Okay, then, tell me what happened.”
Arlen mumbled, “Someone pushed me and I slammed against the fire alarm, and the flap on my shirt got caught, and when I tried not to fall I moved backwards and accidentally pulled the lever.”
Skye talked to him for nearly half an hour and his story never changed. Finally, she let him go and started to work on a brief report of her meeting with Arlen.
The bell for first lunch had just rung when Opal Hill, the school secretary, buzzed Skye and announced, “Mr. Knapik would like to see you.”
“Okay. Thanks.” Skye grabbed a legal pad, pen, and her appointment book, and hurried toward the front office.
Homer’s door was closed when Skye arrived, and she could hear raised voices. She hesitated.
Opal encouraged, “Go ahead in. He’s expecting you.”
“Who’s with him?”
“Mr. and Mrs. Yoder.”
Skye groaned. She knew the day had been going too well. Facing these parents was worse than being a contestant on Fear Factor. Heaven only knew what disgusting or dangerous stunt they’d pull.
She took a deep breath, knocked once, and eased the door open. Homer sat behind his desk. His hair was bristling and his face was the color of cayenne pepper. The Yoders were seated across from him. Mrs. Yoder was hunched in her chair as if expecting the ceiling to fall in on her. Mr. Yoder was poised at the edge of his seat, clearly ready to spring up at the least provocation.
No one acknowledged her presence. Skye dragged a chair from the back table over by Mrs. Yoder, keeping as far away from Mr. Yoder as she could. The man had assaulted her a couple of years ago, and at the time she had listened to Homer and not reported him to the police. This time, if he as much as touched her, she’d have Wally on the phone faster than you could say, “Arrest this man.”
Homer continued to talk. “As I’ve said before, I’m sorry Arlen missed the dance, but I have to follow the school district handbook.”
“Arlen didn’t pull that goddamn alarm!” Mr. Yoder raged. “He was pushed! It was an accident!”
Homer turned to Skye. “Did you speak to Arlen this morning, Ms. Denison?”
“Yes.”
“And your conclusion?”
As Skye started to speak, Mr. Yoder swung his massive head in her direction and pinned her with a simian stare. For a moment she was distracted by his resemblance to a gorilla and forgot what she was about to say.
Homer prompted her, “Ms. Denison, do you have an opinion?”
“Uh, well, I can’t be absolutely certain, but I think Arlen is telling the truth. He didn’t mean to pull the alarm.”
Homer exhaled noisily, and a look of confusion crossed the Yoders’ hostile faces.
Mr. Yoder said incredulously, “You believe him?”
“Yes,” Skye declared.
“So you’re saying he shouldn’t be suspended?” Mr. Yoder questioned.
“Yes.” Skye was getting worried. Yoder was way too calm.
Suddenly Mr. Yoder sputtered, “Then you people made him miss the dance for nothing and he—”
Without thinking, Skye cut him off. “Considering the fire, maybe missing the dance was a blessing in disguise.” She tensed. Now she was in for it. This was not a man who tolerated interruptions, especially from women.
But Mr. Yoder just nodded. “Maybe.” He stood up and his wife leapt to her feet. As they walked out the door, he added darkly, “And maybe there wouldn’t have been no fire if Arlen was there.”
Skye’s stomach growled, reminding her that she had skipped breakfast and it was past lunchtime. She had forgotten to bring anything to eat, and the cafeteria was closed—darn, she had missed her opportunity to enjoy a meal of mystery meat and tater tots.
After considering her limited options, she decided to try the new sub shop that had recently opened next to Kessler Dry Goods Store. She gathered the papers spread across her desktop and locked them in the top drawer, then grabbed her purse, told Opal she’d be right back, and walked out to her c
ar.
The sub shop was packed. Obviously the citizens of Scumble River were ready for a new culinary adventure. Skye grabbed a number from the dispenser by the door and looked at the menu written on a chalkboard mounted on the wall behind the counter. The odor of salami and pickles filled the air. She was trying to decide between the Italian and the tuna sub when she caught part of the conversation going on behind her. Two men were talking about the fire.
Before she could tune in on the men’s discussion, the girl behind the counter interrupted her eavesdropping by asking for her order. Skye decided on the Italian club and then focused back on the dialogue behind her.
A male voice intoned, “It was murder.”
Another questioned, “How do you know?”
“I heard it not fifteen minutes ago. I was getting my hair cut, and Wally Boyd came in and arrested Vince Denison.”
Skye whirled around and grabbed the arm of the man who had been speaking. “Did you just say Vince Denison has been arrested?”
“Yes, ma’am, I did.” The man tried to back away, but Skye had a good grip and didn’t let go.
“Chief Boyd actually put Vince in the squad car and drove away with him?” Skye demanded. A lot of Scumble River citizens tended to exaggerate, and she wanted to be clear on what had really happened.
“Well, no. He just took him into the back of the shop and talked to him for a while and then left by himself.”
Skye counted to ten, twice. As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t slap this man silly, or Wally would come arrest her. Instead, she dug her nails into his arm and said in a firm voice, “If I were you, I’d be mighty careful about the rumors that I spread about Vince Denison. I hear he’s dating some hot shot Chicago lawyer, and I’d hate to see a nice man like you get sued for slander … or is it libel? I can never remember which one it is that the judge takes away your farm for.”
With that, Skye paid for her lunch, yanked the brown paper sack off the counter, and marched out of the shop.
There was a stack of pink “while you were out” slips in her box when she got back. She sorted through them as she walked to her office. Her mother had left three messages, Vince had left two, and Wally, one. Gee, all the people she wanted to talk to wanted to talk to her too. How nice.
Before she could decide whom to call first, the telephone rang. Skye snatched up the receiver and Opal announced that Chief Boyd was waiting to see her.
Wally walked into her office and took a seat. “You were right. The fire victim is Logan Wolfe. His wife identified his tattoo yesterday, and we got word late this morning that his dental records match.”
“I see.” Skye played for time as she considered how to broach her questions. “Did she say why she hadn’t reported him missing?”
“She thought he was spending the night with a friend. She wasn’t sure who.”
“Is she a suspect?”
Wally shifted uneasily, his leather utility belt creaking against the chair’s armrest. “There’re a lot of people we want to talk to.”
“Like the friend he was supposed to stay with, I imagine,” Skye prodded.
“Yes, and his other friends, too.”
“I hear you’ve already started talking to them.”
“Only a few. We just got the dental confirmation a couple of hours ago.”
Skye’s nostrils flared. “So, Vince was first on your list?”
Wally no longer seemed able to look her in the eye. “Not necessarily. He just happened to be the easiest to find.”
“But he is a suspect?” she persisted.
“He is one of the last people who saw Logan alive.”
“Besides the killer, you mean.”
“Sure.”
“Was Vince able to shed any light on your investigation?”
“Right now, I’m just trying to get the timeline straight.” Wally fished a small pad of paper and a pen from his pocket. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you. Did you see Logan once that girl starting screaming ‘fire’?”
Skye took a moment to recall what had happened. “No. I couldn’t see the back of the gym from where I was originally, and by the time I rounded up the kids and got them out the emergency exit, only Vince and Finn were on stage, and no one was nearby.”
“That fits with what I’ve heard so far.” Wally got up. “Do you know the name of the girl who first screamed ‘fire’?”
“I never saw her. I heard a commotion by the stage while the band was still playing, started toward the noise, and then heard someone scream ‘fire.’”
Wally stopped at the door. “I need to talk to Frannie Ryan. Do you know if she’s at school today?”
“She’s here, but wouldn’t it be better if you talked to her at home?”
“I have her father’s permission to interview her.”
“Good. But I was thinking that maybe it would be dangerous for her if whoever killed Logan thinks she knows something and sees her talking to the police.”
Wally sighed. “When does school get out?”
Skye looked at her watch. “In an hour.”
“Okay. In the meantime, I’ll go talk to Finn.”
“I’m surprised you aren’t more interested in Rod, since he was the first to leave the stage when the fire alarm started.”
“I haven’t been able to locate him. Unlike Vince and Finn, he doesn’t have a steady job.” Wally shrugged. “Besides, anyone could have snuck back in during the commotion, killed Logan, and slipped back out again.”
Skye sat staring into space after the chief left. So Rod was missing. Maybe he had murdered Logan.
CHAPTER 11
Mama Said
The phone was ringing when Skye stepped through her cottage door at five o’clock. Shortly after Wally left, she had been summoned to an after-school meeting at the junior high, which had lasted until a few minutes ago. She hadn’t had a chance to return her mother’s calls, and her short conversation with Vince hadn’t added much to what Wally had told her.
Skye scooped up the receiver and said, “Hi, Mom.”
“How did you know it was me?” May demanded. “Did you get one of those caller ID thingies?”
“Nope. Just took a guess.” Skye could tell from her mother’s tone that May had spent the afternoon working herself into a lather. “Did you hear that the murder victim is Logan Wolfe?”
“Uh-huh. I think Wally suspects your brother of killing him.”
“Why do you say that?” Skye answered cautiously, not wanting to stir May up any more than she already was.
“Because as soon as Wally found out the victim was Logan, he tore out of the station and went straight to Vince’s salon.”
Skye had forgotten her mother was dispatching the seven-to-three shift today. “But he didn’t arrest him. Vince said that Wally just had some questions about the timetable that night.”
May exhaled so loudly it sounded like she was blowing a raspberry at Skye. “Your brother has a lot of wonderful qualities, but the ability to tell whether he’s in trouble is not one of them.”
Skye had to agree. “I saw Wally briefly after he talked to Vince, and he claimed he was talking to Finn and Rod, too.”
“They aren’t our concern. Vince is. Besides, something is going on with Wally. He’s not himself lately.”
So May had noticed that, too. Skye wanted to hear what her mother had observed. “How’s he different?”
“It’s hard to say. He seems fuzzy and not real interested in anything much.”
“That’s not good.” Skye poured dry cat food into one of Bingo’s bowls and water into the other.
“No, it isn’t. Which is why I want you to help Wally find out who really killed Logan Wolfe.”
“But, Mom—”
May interrupted, “Before he arrests your brother.”
A sick feeling invaded Skye’s stomach. She had been trying not to think about the fact that Vince had been a murder suspect once before, when an old girlfriend had returned to Scu
mble River and ended up being stabbed with his styling shears. After the queasiness passed, she said, “I’ll keep my eyes open.”
“Good.” May’s voice shook. “I don’t want to ever have to visit my baby boy in jail again.”
“Don’t worry, Mom.” Skye understood her mother’s feelings. Visiting Vince in jail had been one of the worst experiences of her life, too. “I’ll take care of it.”
There was a moment’s silence, then May said, “Maybe you can ask some questions at Wally’s Meet and Greet tonight.”
“You’re still going to that? I thought you’d be mad at Wally for suspecting Vince and would boycott his campaign rally.”
“Of course I’m not mad at Wally.” May’s tone was innocent. “I just don’t want him to make a big mistake and look bad.” Skye was digesting her mother’s reasoning when May added, “Besides, haven’t you ever heard the saying, ‘Keep your friends close and your enemies closer’?”
Skye made a noncommittal sound, then said, “I thought maybe he’d cancel the rally after the murder and all.”
“Why should he?” May sniffed. “People can’t expect him to work as a policeman twenty-four hours. You are still going?”
“Simon’s picking me up at six.”
“But it starts at six. You’ll be late.”
Skye rolled her eyes. It didn’t take more than five minutes to get anywhere in Scumble River. “Events like these never get started on time. We’ll be there before anything happens.”
“I’ll save you some food, in case they run out early. I’m bringing a couple pans of lasagna and a batch of fried chicken.”
“Sounds great.” Skye’s mouth watered. May’s cooking was legendary. Her food alone could win the election for Wally. “See you there.”
Skye took a quick shower and changed into burgundy wool slacks with a matching angora twin set. An occasion like this one was tricky. Too dressy, and people talked about you for being snooty; too casual, and people said you’d been raised in a barn.
She was trying to decide between the pearl and the gold earrings when the doorbell rang. She hurried to the foyer, looked out the window, and flung open the door.
Murder of a Pink Elephant Page 9
