“How can you tell?” Paige selected a bright pink duck from her pile.
“I just can.” Juliette anchored her tongue between her teeth and concentrated on producing an impeccable thirty-two on the side of a bright green duck. When she was finally content with her efforts, she said softly, “Which is why I love being on the volleyball team so much. I’m the only sophomore, and none of the other girls act as if they remember me from middle school.”
“They probably don’t.” Paige continued to work steadily. “Unless kids are your neighbors, relatives, friends of your siblings, or were in an activity with you, they usually only know their own classmates.”
“Fortunately, I live in the country, my relatives are all older, and I’m an only child.” Juliette smiled. “And I never thought I’d say this, but thank goodness I didn’t have a social life back when I was a chubster.”
“I’m glad high school has been a better place for you than middle school.” Paige fingered her earring. “That sure isn’t the case for everyone.”
“It’s amazing. The popular kids like me.” Juliette beamed. “I’m finally somebody.”
“You were always somebody.” Paige wrinkled her brow.
“Yeah.” Juliette sneered. “Right. All of me is beautiful, even the hideous, flabby, revolting parts.”
“It’s really a mistake to let other people influence how you see yourself.”
Skye was awed at Paige’s wisdom. Few adults understood the truth of what she was saying to Juliette, let alone seventeen-year-olds.
“Maybe for girls like you.” Juliette’s mouth formed a stubborn line. “But before I lost weight, I wasn’t just a plain Jane. I was plain Jane’s brother. For me being accepted by the popular crowd is the reason that I worked so hard to shed the pounds. It’s the reason I eat nothing but plain lettuce and baked chicken and run miles and miles every day.”
“It must have been very important to you.” Paige skimmed an uneasy glance over Juliette. “And now that you’ve achieved that goal—”
“Now that I’m friends with the popular girls, I can’t give it up.” Juliette cut Paige off. “It’s all I ever wanted, and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep it.”
“Oh.” Paige put down the duck she’d been numbering and asked, a note of concern in her voice, “Like, what do you have to do?”
Juliette ignored Paige’s question. It almost seemed that now she was talking to herself as she muttered, “Some people refused to do what Coach wanted, but not me.” Juliette jerked her chin up. “The thing that made me mad was that one of the players, just because she was a star, got a free pass. Ms. H let her back on the team even though she walked out of team-building night.”
“What kind of stuff did the ‘star’ balk at doing?” Paige asked.
Before Juliette responded, a loud voice from across the room rang out, “Ms. D, we need more ducks over here.” Skye ground her teeth in frustration, then waited a beat to see if Juliette would continue, but she was silent. Finally, Skye left her listening post and brought the boy another set of ducks.
Making a mental note to investigate the objectionable bonding activities that both Juliette and Roxy had mentioned, Skye focused on making sure her newspaper staff completed the task. And when the bell rang at 7:50, one thousand rubber duckies had been numbered. She spent the next half hour repacking the ducks into their original boxes, carefully arranging each of the various colored waterfowl in numerical order to make sure no numbers had been skipped or duplicated.
Satisfied with her efforts, Skye left the cartons on Trixie’s worktable and returned to her office. It was a good thing that all evidence of her ordering blunder was gone, because when she walked in the door, Homer was sitting behind her desk, glaring.
Uh-oh! This couldn’t be good. The principal always summoned her to his lair, rarely venturing into the rest of the building. He’d often stated that the fewer students he had to see, the better.
“Mrs. Northrup is waiting in my office, and she’s driving me crazy.” Homer lumbered to his feet and shambled to where Skye stood poised to run away. “Where in the freaking hell have you been?”
“I had a before-school meeting with the newspaper kids.” Skye grabbed her schedule book from the desktop, flipped it open, and checked the pink slip of paper clipped inside. “The message in my box says that the conference with Ashley’s mom is at eight thirty.” She glanced at her watch. “I still have ten minutes.”
“She came early,” Homer snarled. “And that idiot Opal wasn’t at her post. That Northrup woman walked right past the front counter, barged into my office, and has been glued to my visitor’s chair for half an hour,” he growled. “She refuses to budge and just stares at me.”
“Sorry.” Skye kept her expression bland, but she was giggling inside. It was beyond amusing that for once Homer was the one trapped and uncomfortable. “So you left her sitting there?”
“Not alone.” Homer grabbed Skye’s elbow. “As soon as Opal got her butt back from wherever in the holy hell she’d been hiding, I ordered her to babysit the woman and came to find you.”
He started to pull Skye into the corridor, and she dug in her heels. “I need Ashley’s records.” Skye jerked her arm from Homer’s grasp. “And I’d like to grab a cup of tea from the faculty lounge.”
“Get the folder, but you don’t have time to make yourself tea and cookies.” He watched Skye closely as she unlocked a cabinet and retrieved the file. “If you’re good, after you get rid of that woman, you can use my new Keurig.” He muttered to himself, “I can’t believe they stuck a crappy tea K-Cup in my sampler pack. Real men drink coffee.”
Skye grinned as she trailed Homer down the hall and into his office. Evidently, he didn’t consider the prince of England a real man.
Once Homer dismissed Opal and the door closed behind her, Skye turned to the waiting parent and said, “Since you requested the meeting, Mrs. Northrup, why don’t you start?”
“Thorntree Academy went over the records you sent them, and they tell me that Ashley needs another test before they’ll consider her application.” Mrs. Northrup thrust a piece of paper with an official letterhead at Skye. “They want you to give her the Autism Diagnostic Observation Schedule.”
“I see.” Skye frowned. “Ashley was originally diagnosed by a pediatric neurologist. Does Thorntree doubt the doctor’s diagnosis?”
“I don’t think so.” Mrs. Northrup chewed her thumbnail, then shook her head. “They didn’t say anything about her classification. Just that the test was required before their admissions committee could make a decision.”
“Okay.” Skye jotted down a note. She was more than willing to give Ashley the additional assessment; the problem was that she couldn’t.
“So when can you get this Autism Diagnostic Observation Schedule thingy done?” Mrs. Northrup was clutching the strap of her purse so tightly her knuckles were white. “I know this is the last day before spring break, but can you do it this afternoon? Or I could bring Ashley in anytime you’re available next week.”
“Actually”—Skye chose her words carefully—“we don’t have the ADOS.”
“How much would this Adios test cost us to order?” Homer demanded.
“I really have no idea.” Skye wrinkled her nose. “But my guess would be somewhere between five hundred and a thousand.”
“That’s ridiculous.” Homer snorted. “Maybe you could borrow it from the co-op.”
“That’s a possibility,” Skye agreed, then added, “But the real difficulty is that I’m not familiar with the ADOS. And without proper training, it isn’t ethical for me to administer the instrument.”
“Then the district needs to find someone to do it.” Mrs. Northrup twisted a large masculine-looking gold nugget ring on her right hand.
“Can’t you read the manual or something?” Homer snapped at Skye, lacing his fing
ers over his stomach. “Heck, every time the state changes its tests, I have to figure out the new instructions.”
“No.” Skye gripped the armrest of her chair. “That would not be best practices, and I won’t do it.” She closed her eyes, then suggested, “I know that speech pathologists are qualified to give the ADOS. Maybe Ms. Whitney has been trained on the instrument.”
“Ask her,” Mrs. Northrup demanded. “I’m tired of everything taking so long. I want to know right now if she can do it or not.”
While Homer dialed the phone, Skye tried to make small talk with Ashley’s mother. “I was sorry to hear about the fire at your Laundromat.”
“Thank you.” Mrs. Northrup sighed and ran her hand through her hair. “It was just another awful thing in my already sucky life. First Ashley’s problems, then Gideon dies”—she touched the ring on her right hand—“and now the fire.” She bit back a strangled laugh. “Strike three and you’re out.”
“Will you be able to reopen soon?” Skye asked, patting the woman’s arm.
“No.” Mrs. Northrup shook her head. “I’m putting the land up for sale and I’m looking for a job.”
“You know, the police department has a dispatcher position opening up soon,” Skye offered. Char had announced her retirement as of the end of April. “You could put in an application.”
“Thanks.” Mrs. Northrup’s expression softened. “I’ll look into it.”
“Belle doesn’t know how to give that Adios either,” Homer proclaimed, hanging up the receiver. Then, scowling at Skye, he said, “Next bright idea?”
“The co-op might have someone qualified,” Skye said. “If you had invited the special ed coordinator, as I suggested, he’d know.”
“No need to get him out here for a question that can be answered over the phone.” Homer glared at Skye and picked up the handset. “We’re better off without the co-op sticking their nose in our business.”
“Right.” Skye barely kept from rolling her eyes. Homer’s paranoia was showing again. “Mrs. Northrup, since there are only two months of school left, maybe instead of rushing to send Ashley to Thorntree this year, it would be best to investigate ways to accommodate her here, and then allow her to start there as a sophomore.”
“No!” Mrs. Northrup shouted. “I’ve waited long enough. She’s going to Thorntree one way or another. Unlike this school, they have a summer program, and I don’t want her to miss out on that.”
“The co-op does have the test and someone can administer it, but not until the end of next month,” Homer announced. “They’ll get back to us with an appointment date and time.” He raised a brow and said, “I’m afraid that’s the best we can do, Mrs. Northrup. And we are within the legal time line with that solution.”
“Sure.” Mrs. Northrup jumped to her feet. “Hide behind the law. You all make me jump through hoop after hoop to get help for my daughter.” She marched to the door. “But I’ll get Ashley what she needs if it’s the last thing I do.”
As the door slammed behind the enraged woman, Skye and Homer exchanged glances. Skye knew the special education process was frustrating to parents. Heck, it was frustrating to her. She’d do her best to expedite matters for Mrs. Northrup, but for the most part, her hands were tied.
CHAPTER 20
OBO—Open Book Official
That afternoon, as soon as Skye got to the PD, she told Wally about the conversation she’d overheard between Juliette and Paige. Before he could respond, she added, “We really need to find out about Blair’s team-building activities.”
“When I spoke to the Inslees today, they said that their issue with Coach Hucksford was the hours she required of her players.” Wally leaned a hip against the wall opposite the coffee/interrogation room door. “They said that their daughter didn’t have time for much else, including her chores around the farm.”
“Did they mention the bonding exercises at all?” Skye asked.
“Not specifically.” Wally jiggled the keys in his pocket. “Just that Juliette felt the coach showed too much favoritism.”
“Juliette wrote a fairly insightful article about that topic for the Scoop,” Skye commented, then added, “From what Roxy had to say yesterday, I’m guessing Keely is the player Juliette felt got preferential treatment.” Skye tipped her head toward the interrogation room. “I can’t wait to hear what Keely has to say about that, although I’m surprised her father isn’t here with her.”
“You can never tell how people will react to being asked to come to the police station for a chat.” Wally chuckled ruefully. “Peterson said that Keely didn’t need him to hold her hand, but the Inslees absolutely refused to bring Juliette to the PD. They told me that if we wanted to talk to her, we could make an appointment to meet with them in Laurel at their attorney’s office.”
“Then I’m glad I listened to Paige and Juliette’s conversation this morning.” Skye’s guilt at eavesdropping lessened. “From what she said, it seemed that although Juliette wasn’t happy about Blair’s partisan behavior toward the star players, she was willing to put up with it. Apparently, being on the team made her a member of the popular clique, and she’d do anything to remain a part of that group.”
“I still want to talk to Juliette.” Wally levered himself from the wall. “But after what you overheard, her name’s moved much farther down my list.”
“What happened with Thor?” Skye asked. “Is he here?”
“Yep. I had Quirk pick him up.” Wally put his hand on the interrogation-room doorknob, clearly impatient to start the interview with Keely. “He got here the same time that Keely arrived, so he’s cooling his heels in the basement holding cell. He’s been bawling for the past twenty minutes. He should be just about ready to spill his guts by the time we’re done with Keely.”
“Are you sure he’s okay?” Skye didn’t like the idea of Thor crying down there all alone. “What if he’s sick or hurt or something?”
“He’s fine. His tears are bogus.” Wally smirked. “I’ve got Martinez babysitting him, or as it is officially called, on suicide watch, and he keeps hitting on her. He even asked her to help him chaperone the prom, claiming with Blair gone, he can’t do it alone.”
“Alone?” Skye scoffed. “Heck, we have a chaperone for every ten kids.”
“Exactly.” Wally paused before opening the door. “Okay with good cop, bad cop?”
“I guess.” Skye sighed, not having to ask which role she was assigned.
“Are you all right with me acting angry at you for being on her side?”
“Sure. If you’re all right with me seeming scared of you,” Skye teased.
“No problem.” Wally winked. “Although it does boggle the imagination.”
“Very funny.” Skye snickered softly, then pasted a serious expression on her face and tilted her head toward the door. “Let’s do this.”
Wally and Skye entered the interrogation room. Wally adjusted the tape recorder, made Keely aware she was being recorded, and announced the date and time. Skye then immediately informed Keely that she was not there as her school psychologist. Once the girl had stated her name and address for the record, Skye added that she was the police psych consultant, so confidentiality no longer applied, then asked if she understood. Keely nodded, a flicker of apprehension in her hazel eyes.
Skye was surprised when a tear slid down Keely’s cheek. The brash teenager she’d met on Wednesday now looked more like a frightened little girl. Evidently, the bravado she’d exhibited during that grief-counseling session had been a facade.
Snagging a box of Kleenex from the counter, Skye took a seat next to Keely and said, “I know this whole situation is probably scary, but if you answer our questions honestly, everything will be fine. Is that okay, or do you want to call your father or a lawyer?”
“Sure. Go ahead and call for help,” Wally said as he sat down across from
the women and sneered. “If you need your daddy or some other adult to protect you.”
“I can take care of myself.” Keely straightened, wiped her eyes, and turned to Skye. “Ask your questions. I don’t have anything to hide.”
Skye smiled reassuringly, then said, “That’s very good, Keely. Being forthcoming and telling the truth is the smart way to go.”
“Unless she’s the murderer,” Wally jeered. “Then all your touchy-feely, positive-reinforcement crap is bad advice, isn’t it?”
“Sorry, Chief.” Skye exchanged a frightened glance with Keely.
“Watch it, or you can leave,” Wally growled at Skye, then lasered Keely with a look that conveyed his distrust. “Did you kill Ms. Hucksford?”
“No!” Keely squealed, her mouth dropping open. “Why would I kill Coach?”
“We’re asking the questions, little girl—not you,” Wally snapped. “Where were you between eleven and twelve Monday night?”
“Home.” Keely’s shoulders drooped. “The other girls are still mad that I quit the team, so after practice I just went back to my house by myself. I told you that when you talked to me Wednesday at school.”
“You said you were alone that evening,” Wally said. “And your father’s boss confirms that he worked the afternoon shift at the nuclear plan in Brooklyn. So you don’t have an alibi for the time of Ms. Hucksford’s murder.”
Skye did a quick calculation and realized that Keely’s father couldn’t vouch for her whereabouts. Including his commute, Mac Peterson would have been away from home from three thirty Monday afternoon to twelve thirty a.m. Tuesday.
“Well.” Keely studied her hands as if they didn’t belong to her. “I . . . uh . . . I can explain where I was and what I was doing that night, but you can’t tell my dad this.” She looked at Skye beseechingly.
“If it doesn’t have anything to do with Ms. Hucksford’s murder, we won’t inform your father,” Skye assured her, then quickly added, “Unless it involves hurting yourself or someone else.”
Murder of An Open Book: A Scumble River Mystery (Scumble River Mysteries Book 18) Page 18
