“Maybe later,” Keely said, chewing on the end of her hair. “For now let’s just say that I’m a flamingo in a flock of pigeons.”
“That’s fine,” Skye assured her. “And if you’d like to talk to me alone, we can set that up, too. No one has to share if they’re uncomfortable doing so.”
“Then why are we here?” Roxy asked, her tone conveying utter boredom. “I have a test third hour and this period is my study hall.”
“You and anyone who doesn’t feel like they need to talk are free to leave,” Skye said evenly, thinking that it was interesting that the captain of the varsity team was the first to want to go.
Suddenly, Skye recalled that a week or so ago—she wasn’t exactly sure of the timeline—she’d overheard a group of girls in the school hallway talking about the team captain arguing with the volleyball coach. Back then she hadn’t thought much about what they’d said, but with Blair’s murder, the conversation took on more significance. She’d have to remember to tell Wally about it.
Tucking that info into the back of her mind, she pointed to a stack of passes she’d prepared yesterday afternoon and said, “Anyone who doesn’t want to be here can take one of those and return to class.”
When no one else stood up, Roxy gazed sullenly at Skye, then said, “I’ll stick around. The test will probably be postponed.”
“You could be correct about that. Today’s schedule is certainly out of whack. But I have no idea what the faculty plans to do about tests and assignments, so be prepared to take the examination.” She checked out the girl’s reaction. Something was bugging her, so she asked, “Did you have Ms. Hucksford for science class?”
“I’m a junior. Of course I had her.” Roxy crossed her arms. “It’s not as if there is more than one teacher for chemistry.”
“Right.” Skye nodded slowly. “Then all of the varsity players had Ms. Hucksford, and you’ve all lost both your coach and a teacher.”
Expressions ranged from indifference to sadness to the dawning realization of what Blair’s death really meant. A couple of the girls drew in a sharp breath and whispered to their neighbor.
“With that in mind, what I’d like to talk about now are your feelings regarding Ms. Hucksford’s passing.” Skye leaned forward and made eye contact with each of the girls, trying to gauge where to start. “What were your reactions when you first heard the news?”
“We aren’t going to kill ourselves, if that’s what you mean,” Roxy sneered. “We feel bad about the coach, but we’re not going to throw ourselves on her funeral pyre or drink poisoned Kool-Aid.”
The others murmured their agreement, but Keely hunched her shoulders and said, “I wouldn’t put it past some of you. But only if the coach left exact instructions in her will for how you should do it.”
“Hey, you know the team rule.” Roxy stared at Keely. “Keep it cute or keep it mute.”
Skye was dying to know what was behind Keely’s snarky comment and why Roxy had immediately shut her down. Sadly, questioning either girl wouldn’t result in any kind of honest answer. Instead, after waiting a beat to see if Keely would ignore her captain and continue, Skye responded, “So, Keely, you feel that some of the others were more influenced by Ms. Hucksford’s wishes than you were?”
“This whole school thing is just a big circus, and the volleyball team is the freak show.” Keely gestured contemptuously around the circle. “Coach tells them to jump into the water, and no one even stops to think if they can swim; they just head into the pool.”
“And how do you all feel about what Keely claims?” Skye asked. Although she was surprised that the girl had mentioned the swimming pool—the place Blair had died—for now she was willing to see where the discussion led. “Does anyone agree that perhaps you were overly eager to please your coach and didn’t think through her requests?”
“Keely is being melodramatic.” Roxy seemed to have appointed herself spokesperson of the group. “She resents the rest of us because she’s not a team player like we are.”
“Perhaps, but how do you feel about what she said?” Skye asked. “Remember, we’re talking about our own feelings, not someone else’s.”
“I didn’t always agree with Ms. Hucksford.” Roxy shook her head emphatically, making her long black braid swish from side to side across her back. “But when we signed on for the team, we knew that the only way for us to shine was to do what our coach told us to do. Good things come to those who wait.”
“Too bad those things are usually the stuff left behind by those who got there first,” Keely muttered.
“So, Keely,” Skye intervened. “You didn’t feel the way Roxy did?”
“Truthfully,” Keely said with a sigh, “I did at first, but then I changed my mind.”
“Oh?” Skye murmured encouragingly, hoping the girl would explain. When she remained silent, Skye asked, “Would anyone else like to share something about their experience with Ms. Hucksford?”
Finally, the floodgates seemed to open for the others, and all the girls began to speak up. Skye sat back, allowing the teenagers to talk and process the events for themselves. She occasionally clarified or refereed, but mostly she observed for the rest of the time.
There were only a few minutes left in the period when Roxy asked Skye, “Do you know who’s going to take over for Ms. Hucksford?”
“It’s probably too late in the school year to hire a new science teacher.” Skye hid a smile. She’d been wondering just how long it would be before the typical teenage narcissism kicked in. It was perfectly normal for adolescents to be self-involved and put their own needs before those of anyone else, and Skye had been speculating at what moment one of the girls would start to realize how Blair’s death would affect their lives. “So most likely, Mr. Knapik will just hire a sub for the rest of the term.”
“How about volleyball?” Juliette asked. “Who will coach us?”
“Since volleyball season isn’t until the fall”—Skye shrugged—“my guess would be that the position won’t be filled until then.”
“But we train all year.” Roxy’s voice cracked. “We can’t just opt out until September. Some of us have to be at our best.”
“Yeah.” Keely’s gaze was hard. “Wouldn’t it be a damn shame if after all you’ve done to get a chance at that scholarship, you lost it now?”
Before Roxy or Skye could respond, the bell rang. As the teenagers filed out of her office, Skye made sure each girl knew that if they were interested, she was available for an individual counseling session. None of them appeared eager to take her up on her offer.
Once they were gone, she headed over to the library to see if the social worker wanted any help, but he declined her offer. He had seen the seven students Skye had sent him, as well as the solitary teacher who had sought his assistance, and was currently helping Trixie plot her next book. The social worker agreed to stick around for another hour, but if no one else came to see him for counseling, he’d return to his regular co-op duties.
Like the volleyball players, whom Skye had worked with, none of the social worker’s counselees had asked for any individual sessions. Evidently, very few of the staff or students of Scumble River High School were that upset by Blair’s death.
It was close to nine thirty by the time Skye left the library and headed toward the faculty lounge. She’d bet her last package of Thin Mints—the ones hidden at home in the back of the freezer—that although some of the teachers might want to talk, several wouldn’t be willing to seek out formal therapy.
However, if she were there, say getting a cup of tea or waiting in line to use the attached restroom, they might start a conversation about how they were feeling. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d held an impromptu counseling session at the old stained Formica tables in the faculty room.
Skye was concentrating on making it to the staff bathroom for a much-needed pit
stop, when the school secretary came dashing toward her. Normally Opal reminded Skye of a mouse, but today, as she sprinted down the corridor, she looked more like a cheetah.
“Skye! Skye!” Opal shouted while she ran. “Where have you been?”
“My office until nine.” Skye waited for the winded woman to catch up, surprised that the normally timid secretary would yell in the hallway. “Then the library for the past half hour or so. Why?”
“Mr. Knapik is in with the superintendent and has ordered me not to disturb them, but the cops are here. What should I do?”
Opal had fallen into the habit of consulting Skye when Homer was absent because she was one of the few staff members not responsible for a classroom full of students who couldn’t be left on their own. There was no other administrator, so the secretary considered Skye the next best thing.
“What do the police want?” Skye asked. “Are they planning to arrest someone?”
“I have no idea.” Opal dabbed at her forehead with a lace-edged hanky.
“You didn’t ask them?” Skye turned on her heel and marched toward the office, trailed by the secretary. “What did they say?”
“They asked for Homer.” Opal panted as she trotted next to Skye.
“Then my advice would be to get Homer immediately.” Skye paused before reaching the lobby and faced the hyperventilating woman. “Truly, if the police want to talk to him, you have no choice.”
“No. I can’t.” Opal sagged against a locker. “He’ll get mad at me if I bother him.”
“Fine.” Skye knew arguing was useless. Opal had been Homer’s secretary since he took over as principal back when the kids had to fight off saber-toothed tigers on their walk to school. It had been a different time, and at her age, Opal was not going to be able to change her view of the world or how male authority figures were to be treated. “I’ll get Homer myself. He’s usually angry with me anyway.”
Wally and Sergeant Quirk were standing in the main office. Skye greeted them as she walked past and asked them to wait a minute while she got the principal. She hurried down the short hallway to Homer’s door, knocked, and identified herself. No answer. She knocked again and leaned her head against the wood. Not a sound. She tried the door. It opened easily, but no one was in the room.
Skye went back to the outer office and said to Wally, “Did you see Homer leave?”
“No. No one has been in or out since Opal went to find you.” Wally tapped his fingers on the counter. “If he’s not available, you and Opal can help us round up the teachers and students we need to interview.”
“We really need Homer for this. He should make that kind of decision.” Skye asked Opal, “When was the last time you saw Mr. Knapik?”
“When I showed Dr. Wraige into the principal’s office.” The secretary twisted her fingers. “It was nine a.m. on the dot, because the bell had just rung, and I never left the front desk until I went to get you.”
“Then where are they?” Skye walked back to Homer’s office, looked around. Heck! She’d forgotten about Homer’s secret exit. Behind his desk, concealed by floor-length drapes, was a door designed to look like a window from the outside of the building. She knew he’d used it before to escape the building without being observed.
Opal had followed Skye and said, “Mr. Knapik and Dr. Wraige must have decided to go for coffee.” She added, “Or to play golf. It’s the first warm, sunny day we’ve had this spring.”
“You’ve got to be kidding! A teacher dies and they go hit a bucket of balls?” Skye returned to where Wally and the others were waiting. “It appears that Homer is AWOL. Opal will call you when he comes back. I don’t have the authority to give you access to students.”
“How about if Quirk and I talk to the teachers first?” Wally asked.
“Sure.” Skye wrinkled her brow. “But I sort of thought you’d want me in on those conversations and we’d do them after school.”
“This will be more of a general weeding out.” Wally smiled. “We’re hoping to narrow down the suspect pool today. Then later, when we know who had motive and opportunity, I’ll bring you into the mix.”
“Are you planning to talk to the whole faculty?” Skye asked.
“No. Today we’ll just speak to the folks Blair would have been in contact with the most. The other coaches, extracurricular activity sponsors, and the science teachers.” Wally flipped open the folder he carried and handed Skye a list. “And right now the only students we’re interested in questioning are the girls on the volleyball team.”
“I’ll start phoning their parents while you speak to the staff.” Skye glanced at Opal. “Can you call in a sub to float between the classrooms while the faculty is being interviewed by the police?”
“Not without Mr. Knapik’s authorization.” Opal retreated behind her desk.
“Sweet mother of Jesus.” Skye threw up her hands. “What is the procedure if a teacher is called out from class for an emergency?”
“We have whoever has a free period cover their children.” Opal opened a file cabinet drawer, pulled out a sheet of paper, and thrust it toward Skye. “Here’s the schedule. You decide how to do it.”
“No.” Skye took the page and gave it to Wally. “How about you all just talk to the teachers during their free period instead of shuffling them around?”
“Works for me.” Wally scanned the paper. “I’ll let Opal know if we’re keeping someone longer than the time they have off.”
“Good. Our school nurse is assigned to the junior high on Wednesdays, so Sergeant Quirk can use the health room, and since Trixie will be thrilled to help out on an investigation, I’m sure she’ll let you use the library workroom.”
Skye pulled Wally aside and told him about overhearing that Roxy Alvarez had argued with her volleyball coach. He thanked her and made a note of it.
Before leaving for her office, Skye said to Opal, “Please notify me the minute Homer returns. He and I need to have a chat about exactly what my duties include.”
CHAPTER 13
LD—Link Dead
Opal buzzed Skye after the third lunch period to tell her that Homer had finally returned. Skye hurried to the main office, and after a perfunctory knock on Homer’s door, she walked in without waiting for his permission. He was seated behind his desk on his cushy leather chair with his head leaning back. Chain-saw snores buzzed from his partially open mouth.
Skye stepped over to him, poked his shoulder with her index finger, and demanded, “Where were you?” She waited for his eyelids to pop open, then said, “When the police arrived to talk to teachers and kids about Blair’s murder, you were nowhere to be found.”
“Dr. Wraige and I were at a county board of education meeting in Laurel,” Homer snapped, slowly sitting up. “Opal should have had it on my schedule. Not that it’s any of your business.”
Skye ignored his bark, crossed her arms, and asked, “Then I have to wonder why you two used the window exit instead of leaving via the front door.”
“The custodian had just polished the lobby floor and we didn’t want to mess up the wax.” Homer tottered to his feet. “And I don’t like your attitude. I’m your boss, not the other way around.”
“Of course you are.” Skye kept her voice cool. Although she thought he was lying through his big white false teeth, she could hardly accuse him of not telling the truth. Homer was what those who worked in education called a seagull administrator—a principal who flew into the school each morning, made a lot of noise, then crapped all over everything and left before anyone could shoot him. “I never meant to imply otherwise.”
“That’s more like it.” Homer smirked. “And don’t you forget it. Because right this minute, I’m not in the mood for your sass. I’m having one of those days when I’m mighty tempted to let my middle finger provide all my answers to everyone’s stupid questions.”
; “Seriously?” Skye shook her head, then said, “Anyway, back to actual school business. When the police arrived, intending to interview our staff and students, Opal asked me what she should do. As you pointed out, I’m not the boss, so I had to ad-lib. Perhaps it’s time for you to get a cell phone.”
“Nope.” Homer strolled over to his mini fridge and pulled out an orange soda. “I see no reason to be at everyone’s beck and call.”
“Then who exactly is in charge when you’re not here?” Skye looked longingly at the can. Her throat was parched, and she hadn’t had time to get to the lounge to buy a soda from the machine.
“Technically . . .” Homer tilted the ice-cold can, drank deeply, burped, and continued. “Pru Cormorant is assistant principal, but . . .”
“Right.” Skye shuddered. The annoying English teacher was about the only thing she and Homer agreed on. Better no one at the helm than Pru. “How did she get the job? Why doesn’t anyone know she has it? And what are her duties?”
“She has the most seniority.” Homer had the grace to look a little sheepish, a first for him. “We always allow whoever’s closest to retirement to be the assistant principal so they can maximize their pension benefit. No one knows she’s assistant principal because she has no duties. It’s an in-name-only position rather than an actual one.”
“Of course.” Skye sighed. The joy of small-town politics never ended. She made a face, and when Homer glared, she feigned innocence and said, “Darn! Did I just roll my eyes out loud?”
“Anything else?” Homer took her elbow and pulled her toward the door.
“The chief and Sergeant Quirk are talking to the faculty during the teachers’ free periods, and I’ve phoned all the parents of the students they want to interview. Luckily, I was able to reach almost all of the volleyball team players’ parents. You see how handy cell phones are, Homer?” Skye couldn’t believe she was the one insisting someone else needed a cell when she’d been so reluctant to get one herself. “I’ll keep trying to touch base with the two or three I haven’t contacted.” Skye paused for a breath. “The ones who are concerned are coming in to be with their daughters during their meeting with the police.”
Murder of An Open Book: A Scumble River Mystery (Scumble River Mysteries Book 18) Page 11
