“Yes.” Wally frowned, clearly unhappy. “He’s on the way. In fact, you’d better go let him in the front door. I’ll stay with the body.”
Skye cringed. Simon Reid, her ex-boyfriend, was the county coroner, not to mention the owner of both the local funeral home and the bowling alley. She hadn’t seen him since her wedding reception, where he’d told her that even if her feelings for him had changed, he would always love her. She wondered if things between them would be awkward.
She didn’t have long to worry about it because the hearse was just pulling in behind the squad car when Skye returned to the entrance. Simon exited the driver’s side, carrying a black satchel. He walked to the rear of the vehicle and took a collapsible stretcher from the back.
As he wheeled the contraption up the sidewalk, Skye noticed that not a strand of his short auburn hair was out of place. His cheeks were freshly shaven and his black wing-tip shoes were so perfectly polished he could use them to check if his tie was straight.
Instantly, she was aware of her own rumpled appearance. She hitched up the drooping sweatpants and tugged the navy sweatshirt down. If anyone would notice her baby bump, it would be her ex-boyfriend.
Holding the door open, she said, “Hi, Simon. Sorry to get you out so early. The body is in the pool area. Follow me.”
“Hello, Skye. No problem about the time.” Simon smiled. “You know I’m an early riser. When we were dating, you liked to sleep until noon. I wonder what changed your habits.” He lifted an auburn brow, then followed her down the hallway and asked, “Has the deceased been identified?”
“Yes. By me. Her name is Blair Hucksford.” Skye led Simon through the locker room and out to the edge of the pool. “She’s the junior and senior science teacher here, as well as the girls’ volleyball coach. I found her at the bottom of the pool. She must have been swimming alone and drowned.”
“That isn’t a very safe practice.” Simon and Wally exchanged businesslike nods. “I warned you about that when we were dating.”
Skye opened her mouth to snap at Simon, but Wally shook his head and murmured, “You don’t have to worry about Reid’s opinion anymore.”
“Right.” Skye smiled at her husband and stared impassively at Simon.
Wally nodded his approval, then turned and said something to Simon that she couldn’t hear. The two men exchanged spots, and Simon set his satchel on the ground. He took out an elaborate camera and began to photograph Blair from various angles. He then turned her over and repeated the process. Finally, he made a small incision below the ribs on the right side of the body and inserted a thermometer deeply into the cut.
Rising, he stuck a different thermometer in the pool water and waited until it registered. Then he took his phone from the inner pocket of his suit jacket, brought up the calculator, and did a quick computation.
Finally, he looked at Wally and said, “Taking into consideration the temperature of the water and that the temperature of a dead body decreases at about one-and-a half degrees per hour, Ms. Hucksford’s liver temperature indicates she died somewhere between eleven p.m. and midnight.”
“I wonder what she was doing swimming alone so late at night,” Skye said.
“She wasn’t alone.” Wally pointed to two marks on Blair’s neck. “See those punctures? I noticed them when you went to let Reid inside.”
“Don’t tell me you think she was killed by a vampire.” Skye rolled her eyes. They’d had some odd deaths in Scumble River—one by chocolate, another in a mud bath, and a third involving a steamroller—but she refused to believe that this one implicated Count Dracula.
“No.” Wally shoved his hands in his pockets. “Those are wounds caused by certain types of Tasers and stun guns. When the trigger is pressed, two darts shoot out and attach to the target. At that point, the person’s immobilized and loses muscle control.”
“So you’re saying Blair was murdered.” A wave of nausea swept over Skye.
“I’m saying it’s a strong possibility, and we need to treat it as such.” Wally reached for his cell and dialed. “I’m calling in the crime-scene techs. Will you go meet them at the door, darlin’?”
“As soon as I finish throwing up.”
CHAPTER 8
FWIW—For What It’s Worth
Huddled under a blanket, sipping oversugared tea, Skye sat in the principal’s office watching Charlie and Homer argue. Her eyes kept drifting closed, only to jerk awake as her chin sagged forward onto her chest. It was seven thirty in the morning, her head was pounding, and even though neither man was paying any attention to her suggestions or requests, they wouldn’t let her leave the room.
After announcing that he suspected Blair was murdered, Wally had called in several of his officers. Once they’d arrived and placed crime-scene tape over the doors to the gym, locker rooms, and pool area, Skye had finally been allowed to contact Charlie. Homer hadn’t answered his home phone and he refused to own a cell, so Charlie had called the district superintendent. Dr. Wraige had declared that it was the principal’s decision whether or not to close the school, and they would just have to wait until they located him to find out what he wanted to do.
By the time the principal was tracked down, having breakfast at the Feed Bag, most of the faculty had already attempted to enter the building. They had all been turned away by the officer securing the school’s entrance. They were currently milling around on the front sidewalk, using their cell phones to spread what little news they had gleaned from the police.
Now, as Homer and Charlie debated the pros and cons of calling off school, some of the more rural students, who were picked up as much as an hour before the first bell rang, were already on their buses en route to the school.
Calls from worried parents were flooding into the school’s answering machine, and the continual ringing of the telephone in the outer office was not helping Skye’s headache one little bit. When she refocused on the two quarreling men, she saw that, evidently, Charlie had won the dispute, because he was grinning and had appropriated Homer’s chair and desk to make some phone calls.
Homer stomped over to Skye and declared, “Since the cops have only cordoned off the gym, and some of the little brats are already on their way to school, and the teachers are sitting on their butts in the parking lot, we’re opening for business as usual.” He jerked his thumb at Charlie and said, “According to our esteemed board president and local meteorologist, the weather is supposed to be halfway decent today, so PE classes will be held outdoors and the kids will wear their street clothes.”
“What about crisis intervention?” Skye wrinkled her brow. “Both the staff and students will be upset when they hear about Blair’s death.”
“Wally tells me that the police are keeping the victim’s identity quiet until they can notify her next of kin.” Charlie covered the receiver with his hand and answered the question Skye had directed to Homer.
“Like that’s going to happen.” A stubborn look settled on Skye’s features. “You know darn well that someone will leak that info.”
“That’s your husband’s problem, not ours.” Charlie ended his telephone conversation and crossed his arms. “Cell phones aren’t allowed to be used in school, so even if the gossip mill finds out, no one in this building except the three of us should know.”
“Right.” Skye got up and stretched. “Someone is bound to sneak a peek at their phone and see a text from an anxious parent or spouse.”
“Collect all the phones before classes start.” Charlie leaned his elbows on the desk. “That way no one can break the rules.”
“Except those who don’t turn in their cells.” Skye rolled her eyes. “And can you imagine the mess trying to give them all back at the end of the day would be?” She glanced at Homer. “Who’s going to do that?”
“Good questions.” Homer rubbed his neck. “Any suggestions, Mr. President?”
>
“You’ll figure it out.” Charlie rose, marched to the door, and said to Skye, “Now, quit arguing with me and do as I told you.”
“I wasn’t arguing,” she protested. “I was just explaining why I’m right.”
“Well, stop it.” Charlie kissed the top of her head. “I gotta get back to the motel.” He owned and operated the Up A Lazy River Motor Court. Waving, he said, “Call me if you need me.”
Homer waited until Charlie marched out the door and was out of sight, then stated, “Next time we’re screwing things up my way.”
“Okay.” Skye lengthened the word. Did Homer know what he’d just said? Mentally shrugging, she suggested, “Instead of trying to make this a big secret, which will only stir up rumors, let’s make an announcement during homeroom that there was a fatal accident and the police are trying to figure out what happened.” She flipped open her notepad. “That should be enough for today, but tomorrow, once everyone knows it’s Blair and that she was murdered, we need to have a crisis strategy in place.”
“That’s your job.” Homer reclaimed his desk. “If you can’t handle it, call the special ed co-op. We certainly pay them a fortune for their ‘expertise.’” He put air quotes around his last word. “We might as well get something for our money.”
“You know darn well the special ed coordinator won’t come out here or allocate resources on just my say-so.” She was cranky and itchy and had had enough. “I’ll put together a plan, but you need to make a call and tell him I’m acting with your authority.”
“Fine.” Homer ignored her bad temper. “But don’t go crazy with power.”
“I’ll try to control myself,” Skye muttered. Suddenly the lights went on, and she said, “It looks as if the electricity is back.”
“Cameron must have figured out what was wrong.” Homer stuck a finger in his ear and dug around. “ConEd claimed there were no problems on their end.”
“Hmm.” Skye scrunched up her face and mused, “I wonder if the killer somehow sabotaged the power supply, hoping that would interfere with any investigation.”
“I’m not convinced Blair was murdered.” Homer glowered. “I know you’re like the grim reaper of Scumble River and tend to find homicidal maniacs wherever you go, but occasionally an accident does happen.”
“But . . .” Wally wasn’t releasing the details, so she trailed off without explaining about the Taser wounds. Instead she said, “The coroner has ruled it a suspicious death and the police are treating it as a murder investigation, so I wouldn’t count on it being an accident. You need to let the police know about the electricity.”
“Sure.” Homer waved her away. “Now, go let the staff into the building and tell them that our little darlings will be arriving on schedule.”
“After I do that and call to let Neva know I won’t be at the junior high today, I’m going home to take a shower and put on something more appropriate.” Skye glanced down. “Once I get out of this sweat suit and wash the chlorine off, I’ll be more able to function.”
“You’ll have to make up the time,” Homer warned. “Or I’m docking you an hour.”
“Be my guest.” Skye took her keys from her purse and moved toward the door. “I’ll submit an overtime claim the next time an IEP conference runs late.”
“Hey.” Homer glared. “If I had my way, those meetings wouldn’t last more than fifteen minutes. After that, all we’re doing is rehashing the obvious and listening to the parents bitch and moan.”
“What we have to say regarding their children is hard for many folks to hear. They need an opportunity to process it and ask some questions.” Skye knew she was wasting her breath with Homer, but she felt the need to defend the parents involved in the often emotional and always complicated special education procedures. “I’ll be back in an hour or so.” As she left, she said, “Call me if all hell breaks loose while I’m gone.”
“You’ll be the first to know.” Homer waved her away, then added, “On your way out, tell Opal to go over to Tales and Treats and get me a couple of sweet rolls. I didn’t get to finish my breakfast before your godfather dragged me out of the restaurant, and my blood sugar is dropping.”
* * *
Once Skye showered, dressed, and ate a couple of saltines to appease her churning stomach, she returned to the high school and headed for the faculty lounge to gauge the mood of the staff. There was a lot of curiosity as to what had happened at the pool and who had died, but no one seemed distressed. And none of the teachers Skye spoke with reported noticing any troubled or upset students.
Skye spent the rest of the day mostly sequestered in her office, working on a crisis plan and coordinating with the social workers and psychologists from the county special ed co-op. Both while patrolling the hallways during passing periods and on her occasional revisits of the teachers’ lounge, she observed that the day seemed to progress in a fairly typical manner. Wally had told Skye that he planned to ask Simon to put Blair into a body bag before he allowed anyone else into the pool area. He’d also requested that the deceased be driven directly to the county hospital and turned over to the medical examiner.
Evidently, the security measures had been successful, because when the dismissal bell rang at 3:25, the identity of the victim was still unknown. Skye was sure the information embargo wouldn’t last more than a day at most. Someone at the ME’s office was bound to blab, and all it would take was one leak before everyone in town knew the victim was Blair Hucksford. And soon after that, they’d learn she’d been murdered.
Luckily for Wally’s plan, there were several teachers out sick, so Blair’s absence didn’t raise a red flag with anyone. Overhearing Blair’s boyfriend, Thor, remark that it was odd she hadn’t called him to tell him she was going to take the day off, Skye had quickly hinted that it might be that time of the month for Blair. Thor had turned red, muttered his understanding, and fled the faculty lounge so fast he nearly knocked over Opal, who had been just entering the room.
Skye smiled at the recollection of the physical education teacher’s hasty retreat, then glanced at her locked office door. She had put out the DO NOT DISTURB sign, which the staff knew meant she was unavailable except for an emergency. She’d been reluctant to cut herself off from the faculty, but one of the most difficult parts of Skye’s day had been dodging Trixie.
Her friend would want all the details the police were currently keeping confidential. Ever since Trixie had decided to write a mystery, the budding novelist had been fascinated by all things criminal. Rather than having to refuse to answer her BFF’s questions, Skye had taken the coward’s way out and avoided her.
It was relatively easy to evade the librarian during the school day. The tricky part would be getting to her car without Trixie nabbing her. Skye would have to try to slip out the back door.
But before she left, she wanted to see if Wally planned to be home at his regular time. She picked up the receiver and dialed his private line, and as she listened to the telephone ring, it occurred to her how easily she and Wally had slipped into the roles of wife and husband.
There were some aspects that still felt a little odd, but waking up every morning with him beside her and drifting off to sleep in his arms was heavenly. Just his presence in the house was strangely comforting. Even when he wasn’t in the same room with her, she loved hearing his music playing or his footsteps overhead while she relaxed in the sunroom.
“Hello?” Wally’s silky baritone brought her back to the present.
“Hi, sweetie.” Skye flipped open her calendar and asked, “Do you need me at the station this afternoon for the Hucksford case?”
“Not yet.” Wally’s voice was strained. “Until the ME and crime-scene tech’s preliminary reports are in, there’s nothing much to do. Once we get those, I’ll have a better idea where to aim the investigation.”
“Speaking of the CST, are they still processin
g the gym?” Skye noted the appointments she needed to cancel for tomorrow and closed the planner.
“They called and told me that they finished about twenty minutes ago,” Wally answered. “The gym, locker rooms, and pool area are once again available for the school’s use.”
“Good.” Skye sent Homer a quick e-mail as she asked, “Do you know if you’ll be working late?”
“I doubt it.” Wally sighed. “Best-case scenario, the ME and CST get back to me tomorrow, but it could be the day after or even longer. I hate not being able to do more while the trail is fresh, but I don’t want to talk to the vic’s friends or colleagues until after I get ahold of her parents.”
“You haven’t reached them yet?” Skye asked.
Holding the receiver between her ear and shoulder, she sent e-mails to the elementary and junior high principals informing them of the high school emergency and of her absence from their buildings the next day. Both women would be unhappy, and she fully expected a call or two of complaint. Each principal thought her school deserved the majority of Skye’s time and attention.
“I had to leave a voice mail,” Wally said. “Blair’s emergency contact number in the school’s file turned out to be a landline.”
“And both parents probably work.” Skye gathered her things. It was time to make a run for her car. “Blair was in her late twenties, so her folks might only be in their midforties or early fifties.”
“Right.” Wally spoke to someone, then said, “I’ve got to go. I’ll call you if I’m going to be later than five thirty. Love you.”
“Love you, too.” Skye smiled, absurdly pleased that Wally had started to end all their conversations by declaring his affection. “Bye.”
Skye hefted her tote bag over her shoulder, turned off the lights, and slipped into the deserted hallway. It was nearly half past four, and the teachers were allowed to leave at 3:35. There must not have been any after-school activities or detentions today, because the corridor was empty and the building was silent.
Murder of An Open Book: A Scumble River Mystery (Scumble River Mysteries Book 18) Page 7
