Murder of a Chocolate-Covered Cherry

by Denise Swanson

  “I would never do that, now that I’m with the police force.” Skye crossed her fingers and didn’t mention the factory’s elaborate security measures. Then she changed the subject. “Did you find out anything from your interviews after I left?”

  “No, Quirk and the others couldn’t break anyone’s story. I’m still thinking it’s Jared. He had opportunity and he’s strong enough.”

  “That’s means and opportunity, but what about motive?”

  “Maybe Cherry was blackmailing him,” Wally suggested. “Now that we know about my father’s interest in buying Fine Foods, and his requirement that the company have a good moral character, that would make sense.”

  “Any idea how to prove it?”

  “No. I’m hoping that when the forensics come through, there’ll be something I can use.”

  “Shoot. Our first unsolved case.” Skye frowned.

  They were silent for a few minutes; then Wally asked, “Do you still want to go to Joliet for dinner?”

  “No. It’s too late. By the time we drive back and forth that’s at least an hour and a half, say a couple hours for a movie and an hour for dinner and an hour to buy the phones—we wouldn’t be home until midnight, and I have school tomorrow.”

  “Right. Let’s do it this weekend instead.”

  Wally followed Skye into the kitchen.

  She looked in the fridge, shook her head, and closed it. “I’m starving, but the cupboard’s bare. Unless you want me to whip up my prizewinning casserole.”

  “Hey, congratulations, I heard you won. That’s great, but…”

  “But you never want to taste that dish again. That’s okay; neither do I.”

  “Phew.” Wally mimicked great relief. “I was afraid that since you had won, you’d want to make it all the time.”

  “Right.” Skye snorted. “So, back to the age-old question—what shall we do for dinner?”

  “How do Italian beef sandwiches sound?”

  “Yummy. From where?”

  “That place in Braidwood. Antonia’s.”

  “Sounds good. Just let me put some lipstick on, and I’m ready.”

  Wally dropped her off back home at ten. They had talked some more about Wally and his dad’s relationship. It seemed that Wally really was fine. Skye wished she could be that casual about the twisted branches of her family tree, but that would probably never happen.

  She was exhausted, and for a second considered sleeping in the sunroom rather than climbing the stairs to bed, but the thought of trying to stretch out on the short love seat spurred her up the steps. Once she successfully made it to her bedroom, she fell across her mattress fully clothed. The next thing she knew her alarm was buzzing and Bingo was licking her nose. The workweek merry-go-round had begun, and she needed to move her butt, or her carousal horse would gallop away without her.

  After more than a week off, school was crazy. She had only a few minutes to say hi to Trixie before Homer swept her into his office. He sat behind his desk and rubbed his beer belly as if he were about to give birth. The kids had several nicknames for him, including Nitpicker, Homie, Crapik, but Skye thought the most appropriate was Hairy.

  Homer was the most hirsute man she had ever seen. Hair grew in tufts from his head, ears, and eyebrows, and covered his body like a pelt. The principal’s habit of petting himself while he talked made it hard to concentrate during a conversation with him. Even after having worked with him for several years, Skye had to make a concerted effort not to stare as he stroked his furry forearms.

  At first Homer drilled Skye about Ashley’s disappearance, the lawsuit, and other issues she had little or no control over, but finally he got to the real reason he had snatched her from the hallway—Mrs. Cormorant, the oldest teacher in the district and Homer’s archnemesis. “You won’t believe what Corny has done this time.”

  “What?” At this point in her career Skye was ready to believe almost anything.

  “She added a box in the comment section of the report cards.”

  “Oh?” Skye was cautious in her reply. “I was under the impression that teachers were encouraged to write in additional remarks.”

  “Not anymore. Last time she did it the parents sued us, so we discontinued the policy of allowing teachers to insert unapproved statements.” Homer ran his fingers through the clumps of hair sticking up from his scalp. “But that didn’t stop old Corny.”

  “What comment did she add?”

  “‘Shallow gene pool.’”

  Skye held back a snort of laughter and tried to look serious when she said, “But report cards came out nearly a week ago. Why is this just coming up now?”

  “Someone explained what the comment meant to the parents. Before some freaking Good Samaritan enlightened them, they thought the teacher wanted them to have their son swim in deeper water this summer.”

  Skye bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from laughing. “I take it once the parents received this little nugget of wisdom, they were not amused.”

  “They’re demanding an apology from the school and the teacher.”

  “And my guess is Cormorant refuses to say she’s sorry.” Homer nodded, and Skye went on, “And my second guess is that you want me to convince her.”

  Homer nodded again.

  “We’ve been through this before; Pru Cormorant does not like me. I am the wrong person to get her to do anything.”

  “Hey, we all know her receiver is off the hook, but everyone else is afraid of her.”

  “What makes you think I’m not?” Skye demanded.

  “Anyone who has faced down as many murderers as you have should be able to handle one little old lady.”

  “Except that she isn’t little, and she isn’t a lady.”

  Homer took up another hour of her time whining about various other situations, then glanced at his watch and verbally shoved her out the door with the admonishment, “Remember, talk to Corny and make her see the light.”

  As Skye walked away, she muttered, “I’d rather make the harridan go into the light than try to make her see it.”

  Despite her grumbling, Skye had long since realized that it was easier to do what the principal told her to and get it over with, rather than argue. With this in mind she checked the master schedule and saw that Mrs. Cormorant was free for the next seventeen minutes. Perfect. By the time the next bell rang, the distasteful task would be done.

  Pru Cormorant had one of the best classrooms in the building. It had actual walls—instead of folding curtains— windows, and even a door to the outside. Because of this it was a well-known fact that if the weather was nice she usually spent her planning periods on a lawn chair on the grass.

  Skye found Pru there reading a spicy romance, which she quickly hid under a copy of Moby-Dick. Skye pretended not to notice, not that she cared what the other woman read, and said, “Hi, are you enjoying the sunshine?”

  “Yes, it’s so nice to be able to pop out here during the day.” Pru’s watery blue eyes were malicious. “Your office doesn’t have a door to the outside, does it, dear?”

  “No, but then, I’m usually too busy to notice.”

  “Yes, I suppose you are.” Pru raised an overplucked eyebrow. “The students nowadays aren’t like they were when I started at Scumble River High School.”

  Skye bit her tongue to stop herself from asking what it was like to teach in the Stone Age, and instead said, “Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Homer asked me to see if you might have changed your mind about apologizing to those parents who were insulted by your comment on their son’s report card.”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “No, I haven’t changed my mind and I won’t.” Pru patted her stringy, dun-colored hair. “We need to stop coddling these parents. No Child Left Behind, my eye. Anyone with the slightest knowledge of the bell curve knows the largest portion of students are going to be average; then there’s going to be a certain number who are gifted, and, sadl
y, there are going to be an equal number who are dim-witted. The sooner the parents accept that not every child is going to Harvard or even to a community college, the better. Look at the poor Fines.”

  “The Fines?” Skye had been letting Pru ramble, having heard her opinion on the subject before, but suddenly she tuned in. “You mean the family that owns Fine Foods? What about them?”

  “They spent a fortune on tutors and donations getting those two boys through college.” Pru licked her thin lips. “At least they were satisfied when JJ got a BA in business, but they poured even more money into getting Brandon through law school.”

  “But he got his degree, right?” Skye frowned. “Money is never wasted on an education.”

  “He got his degree, all right, but it’s useless.”

  “Why?”

  “He can’t pass the bar exam.” Pru smiled meanly. “He’s tried and tried, even other states’ bar exams, but there’s only so much being rich can do for you. And buying you a license to practice law isn’t one of them.”

  *

  After leaving Pru, Skye checked with Frannie and Justin, as well as Ashley’s fellow cheerleaders. No one had heard from Ashley, and no one seemed particularly worried. They all claimed the girl was behind her own disappearance, and that she’d show up when she got bored, but Skye suspected the students knew more than they were saying—maybe not about where Ashley was, but about why she had disappeared.

  The rest of the day whizzed by as Skye prepared for and attended both the junior high and the high school’s bimonthly Pupil Personal Services meetings. She was kept busy pulling and reading files, taking notes, and getting paperwork ready to start several reevaluations.

  Students in special education had to be evaluated by the psychologist triennially, so every three years a third of the kids receiving services had to be tested. These assessments often took up the majority of a school psychologist’s time, and Skye was no exception.

  When the final bell rang at three, Trixie Frayne burst through Skye’s door. Skye hurriedly finished filling in a cosent form, tucked it into its folder, and filed it away. She was anxious to talk to her friend, hoping Trixie would provide a fresh take on both the murder and the disappearance.

  Trixie was the school librarian, cheerleading coach, and cosponsor of the student newspaper. She reminded Skye of a brownie—not the Girl Scout, the forest imp. She had short nut brown hair and cocoa-colored eyes, a size-four body, and high spirits.

  Her first words were, “Why does everything exciting happen when I’m gone?”

  Skye ignored Trixie’s question—Trixie had been involved in lots of Skye’s past adventures—and asked, “Did you have a romantic getaway?”

  “Yes.” Trixie’s grin was lascivious. “Times like this weekend remind me why I married Owen. Woo, that man has stamina.”

  “My number one criteria for a good husband,” Skye said dryly.

  “Yeah, right.” Trixie sneered. “That’s why you dumped Mr. Nice for Mr. Hot.”

  “We are so not going there.”

  “You brought it up.” Trixie snatched a piece of Easter candy from the jar on Skye’s desk.

  “Can we talk about something else, like our missing student and the murder?” Skye filled Trixie in on what she could about what Xenia had told her about Ashley, avoiding breaking confidentiality by a hair.

  “Boy.” Trixie crossed her legs and dangled her pink highheeled sandal from her toe. “That girl is a pepperoni short of a pizza.”

  “True,” Skye agreed, then gave Trixie the lowdown on the murder and Wally’s dad, concluding with, “It all seems to coalesce around the Fine Foods factory.”

  “It does, doesn’t it?”

  Skye got up and went over to a portable blackboard someone had stored in her office. She’d asked the custodian to remove it, but hadn’t bugged him enough yet to stir him to action. For now she’d put it to good use.

  She picked up a piece of chalk and began to outline. “The first thing that happened is that Wally’s dad decides to look into acquiring Fine Foods. He’ll buy it only if the company has a good reputation, so he comes to town in disguise during the cooking contest—their biggest PR event—to check that out.”

  Trixie nodded. “Number one: The sale of the factory hinges on its good name.”

  “Second, the Friday morning before the contestants get to the factory, Ashley runs away from her abductor in the Fine Foods parking lot and has not been seen again.”

  Trixie grabbed a foil-wrapped candy egg. “Number two: Does Ashley get inside despite the security measures you mentioned, and if so, is she still there?”

  “Third, the contest has an unusual number of problems this year. The practice round is sabotaged. Jared and Grandma Sal’s private argument is broadcast on the PA, doors that were supposed to be locked aren’t, and to top it off, a woman is murdered.” Skye paused, thinking. “Not to mention, who in his or her right mind would think Glenda Doozier’s cooking is worthy of finaling?”

  “Number three: Someone knew Carson Boyd was here watching the contest. Knew he wouldn’t go through with the deal if Fine Foods ended up looking bad, and so this person made sure that it did.”

  “That’s it!” Skye jerked as if she’d been zapped by a cattle prod. “Wally and I have been thinking that Cherry was murdered because she had something on the company that would ruin its reputation, but it’s the opposite. I’ll bet she caught someone sabotaging the contest, and that person killed her to keep her quiet.”

  Trixie licked the chocolate from her fingers. “So who wouldn’t want the company sold?”

  Skye wrote a list of names on the board. “Jared and Tammy can’t wait for it to sell. If I remember my brief conversation with Brandon and JJ, both of them don’t like it here at Scumble River either, so that only leaves Grandma Sal and maybe all the factory workers, if they’re afraid for their jobs.”

  “Isn’t Grandma Sal a little old to be lifting bodies into chocolate fountains?”

  “She may be in her late seventies, but she’s a big, strong woman who could probably outrun me in a race, maybe even you if it was an endurance event.” Skye bit her lip. “The big question is, would she be willing to make her own company look bad in order to keep it? And since she owns the majority percentage, why would she have to?”

  “Yeah. As Nancy Reagan used to urge, she could just say no.” Trixie pursed her mouth. “On the other hand, would anyone outside the family know about the terms of the sale? The employees might know CB International is interested in buying Fine Foods, but would they know the one thing that would stop the sale?”

  “Good question.”

  Trixie and Skye sat in silence as they tried to think of another suspect.

  Finally, when neither of them could come up with anything new, Trixie jumped up from her seat. “I’d better get home. There’s a pile of laundry with my name on it. And I need to stop at the grocery store. Owen will be looking for his supper at five on the dot, and I don’t have a thing to cook.”

  Skye waved good-bye to her friend, then closed her eyes and thought about what she and Trixie had discovered. Hmm. If Grandma Sal was not a suspect—and since she could stop the deal simply by refusing to sign the papers, she didn’t look likely—that meant maybe she’d agree to answer a few questions. It was only three thirty, and she might still be at the factory.

  A quick phone call verified that Skye was in luck. Mrs. Fine wasn’t officially there, but she had stopped by to sign some papers. However, she was leaving in an hour, and although she was willing to talk to Skye, Skye needed to arrive within fifteen minutes.

  While dialing the police station, Skye hurriedly packed up her tote bag. The dispatcher said that Wally was out, but had left a message that he hadn’t been able to secure permission to search the factory and would stop by her house when he got off work at five. Skye left him a message saying she was going to talk to Grandma Sal, and would try to change the older woman’s mind about giving them permission to
look for Ashley.

  Wishing she and Wally had stuck to their plan and gone to buy cell phones yesterday, Skye got into her car and headed toward the factory. As she drove, she fingered the container of pepper spray in her blazer pocket, wondering if she was making a bad move. If she was wrong, and Grandma Sal was the killer, Skye could end up looking very stupid … and possibly very dead.

  CHAPTER 21

  Cool Completely

  Entering Grandma Sal’s office, Skye was taken aback at both the decor and Grandma Sal herself. Instead of the sweet old lady she had met at the cooking contest, whose image was on all the products, a well-dressed, attractive woman sat behind a sleek chrome-and-glass desk.

  Gone were the gray curls, the wire-rimmed glasses, the flowered dress, and the old-fashioned hat. Instead Grandma Sal’s hair was now ash blond and styled in a smooth French twist. She wore a stylish pink Chanel suit with matching high-heeled pumps.

  Skye stood staring while the secretary announced her.

  Even after Grandma Sal looked up and said, “What can I do for you, dear?” Skye was speechless.

  The older woman prodded, “A lot of people are surprised when they see the real Sally Fine, after meeting ‘Grandma Sal.’ I only dress like a little old lady for public appearances.”

  “Oh, of course.” Skye’s cheeks flamed. “I understand completely.”

  “I’m so sorry we had your name wrong throughout the contest. I assure you we’ll get the spelling fixed on your plaque, and it will be correct on your check.”

  “Thank you. It’s an unusual name. I completely understand the mix-up.”

  “Then I take it you’re here for another reason. Have a seat.”

  “Thanks.” Skye sat in one of the leather-and-chrome visitor’s chairs, put her tote bag by her feet, and craned her neck to look around a huge rolling pin-shaped trophy that was directly in front of her.

  “Go ahead and move that thing over.” Mrs. Fine blew out an exasperated breath. “I can’t quite figure out what to do with it. Fine Foods won it for having the most homemade-tasting packaged foods.”