Murder of a Small-Town Honey

by Denise Swanson

  Whirling around, Skye came face-to-chest with the man who had stolen her parking spot. As her eyes reached his face, she realized she knew him. It was the coroner, Simon Reid.

  Resentment she had only partially contained all day broke loose. “Give that back to me right now!”

  “I can’t give it back to you. You never had it to begin with.”

  Skye seethed; her voice rose. “First, you snatch my parking place when it was evident to any moron that I was waiting for that car to leave so I could pull in. Then, you rip the last cans of Diet Coke from my hands. What’s next? Are you on your way to steal the Social Security checks from little old ladies?”

  The man leaned on his grocery cart, completely at ease and comfortable with himself. “Boy, you sure have a temper. I like a woman who—”

  Interrupting him in midsentence, she fought the urge to scream. “I have a temper? You ill-bred, mannerless boor. How dare you? You give that soda back to me or you’re going to be sorry.”

  “What are you going to do? Kick me in the shins?” he asked over his shoulder as he walked around the end of the aisle. In his grocery cart, the six-pack of Diet Coke sat in solitary splendor.

  Skye started to run after him but stopped before reaching the next aisle. Sagging against the shelves, she thought, He’s right. What can I do? I’m powerless.

  Simon reminded her of her ex-fiancé—selfish and egotistical. It had been only a few months, and the pain he had caused her hadn’t diminished. Not only had he robbed her of her dream to join New Orleans society, he had also taken her self-confidence.

  Her head drooped and her shoulders bowed as she returned to the soda aisle and settled for a six-pack of Diet Pepsi. Just like her ex-fiancé, Simon was long gone and she had to live with the consequences. She hated men who made her lose her temper and her Diet Coke.

  She finished her shopping and was headed toward the checkout when a voice stopped her. “Hey, Skye, what are you doing here so late?”

  She turned to find her cousin Ginger Leofanti Allen hurrying toward her. Ginger was dressed in a garishly striped muumuu that hung on her tiny frame and had rollers the size of juice cans on her head. Her feet were stuffed into canvas shoes that had holes in the toes, and her face was devoid of makeup.

  “I got home late from school and found the cupboards bare.” Skye attempted to edge around her cousin.

  Ginger gave Skye a hug. “I heard the news about Charlie’s niece. That poor man. How’s he doing?”

  Leaning back against the cart, Skye made herself comfortable. She knew there was no graceful way to hurry this conversation along. “He’s doing okay.”

  “He’s such a sweet guy. He comes in the bank two or three times a week, and he always stands in line for my window.” Ginger absently rewound a wisp of hair that had escaped from its curler.

  “So, what are you doing here so late?” Skye asked. Most people in Scumble River did their grocery shopping right after work and were tucked in watching TV by eight o’clock.

  Ginger looked down at her attire. “I was just getting ready to sit down and relax when Bert spilled an entire gallon of milk on the floor.”

  “Bert’s your four-year-old, right?”

  “Yes, and he’s not supposed to touch the gallon cartons of milk. Anyway, that meant I wouldn’t have any for the kids’ cereal tomorrow.”

  “Your other two are in school, but who takes care of Bert while you work?” Skye switched the strap of her purse from one shoulder to the other.

  “Either my mom or Flip’s.”

  “What a great arrangement. I understand good child care is hard to find.” Skye judged that her social obligation was almost fulfilled. She turned and took hold of the cart’s handle. “How are the kids and Flip?”

  “The kids are growing like weeds. I had to buy them all new clothes for school. And Flip’s doing real fine. This time of year he’s got more construction jobs than he can deal with. How’re your folks?”

  Skye started to edge her cart down the first aisle. “Fine.”

  “How’s poor Vince taking this thing about Honey?” Ginger followed closely behind Skye.

  It always amused Skye the way people shied away from certain words like murder and death. “He’s hanging in there, hoping they find the killer.”

  “At first we were all real worried about a murderer stalking the citizens of Scumble River, but now we figure it was someone Honey knew from Chicago.”

  “That’s probably true,” Skye said noncommittally. “Well, I’d better let you get going. We both have an early day tomorrow. Tell everyone hello.”

  Ginger was not easily dismissed. She kept pace as Skye quickened her steps. “You know, we were all real sad for you when your fiancé jilted you.”

  Skye bit her lip. She did not want to talk about him to anyone, let alone a cousin she didn’t really like. “Thanks, but I’m fine. I’ve put that behind me.”

  “Good. Then it’s true. You are dating Mike Young.”

  “No. I mean, it’s just one double date with Vince and Abby.”

  “Do I hear wedding bells?”

  “If you do, it’s time to recharge the old Miracle Ear,” answered Skye, making her escape.

  When she reached the front of the store, three of the eight lanes were open. The two nearest her had several people in line, all of whom had their carts piled high.

  Skye hurried toward the farthest row, where two people with only a few items were waiting. An instant before she stepped into line someone cut in front of her. She looked up into Simon’s lively gaze.

  “My, you are having bad luck today,” he said. “Tell you what—I’ll take pity on you and let you go in front of me. After all, women are naturally slower than men.”

  Her head throbbed. “I wouldn’t dream of taking your place or anything else of yours.”

  “Do you often cut off your nose to spite your face?”

  “Turn around and leave me alone, or I’ll call the manager.”

  “And say what? Some horrible man offered to let you go in front of him in line?” With that, he leaned back against his cart and stared at her until it was his turn at the register.

  CHAPTER 15

  That’ll Be the Day

  Timing is everything in a junior high. Too early and you have to wait around for the next bell. Too late and you have to face a hostile teacher as you interrupt his class. It’s the tyranny of the forty-minute hour.

  Keeping this in mind, Skye arrived at Scumble River Junior High on Friday with only a few minutes to spare before sixth period began. She hurried to the office and wrote a pass for Zach Van Stee, asking Ursula to give it to him when the bell rang. Zach was the lucky boy who had won the reevaluation lottery, his good fortune due to his parents’ being the first to sign and return the consent form.

  Still trying to beat the clock, Skye nabbed an additional chair and cleared a corner of her desk. A quick review of Zach’s file indicated he was classified as learning disabled, but had not been assessed since second grade. Because of this, she decided to administer the full test battery, which included measures of intelligence, achievement, and processing skills.

  The sound of anxious breathing caused Skye to look up from the various test protocols she was filling out. A student stood in her doorway with his mouth open and a distinctive orange slip of paper in his hand.

  She smiled at him reassuringly. “Are you Zach Van Stee?”

  Nodding, he clutched the pass tighter.

  Skye got up and motioned to the other chair. “Hi, I’m Ms. Denison. Please sit here. You can put your backpack on the floor. You’re in sixth grade, right?”

  Taking the seat she pointed at, Zach nodded again. He was short and stocky. This, along with his tightly curled hair, made Skye think of a Chia Pet. She jotted this down in her private notes to help remind herself of the boy when she went to write her report.

  “Do you know why you’re here?”

  He shook his head.

  “Did ei
ther of your parents talk to you about this?” she asked.

  Again he shook his head.

  “Okay. You know how you get help from Mrs. Boyd and her assistants?”

  When he nodded for the third time, Skye was ready to recheck his file to see if he was mute.

  “Well, because you get that special help, every three years we need to give you some tests to see how you’re progressing. We want to see if you still need that assistance. Do you remember in second grade taking some tests without your classmates?”

  Zach picked up a pencil and spoke to it. “Mrs. Boyd is nice. I don’t think I could do junior high without help.”

  “It must be scary coming over from fifth grade.” Skye gave him an opening to share his feelings. “The junior high is pretty big.”

  When Zach returned to his vow of silence, she went on. “Okay, the tests I’m going to give you are nothing like the tests you take in school. There’s no grade. I want you to do the best you can, but it’s all right to say, ‘I don’t know.’ These tests are given to kids who are as old as sixteen, so I don’t expect you to know all the answers.”

  He still looked uncomfortable.

  She reached into her drawer and pulled out a bag of Tootsie Roll Pops. “How about one of these before we get started?”

  Selecting a chocolate-flavored pop, he unwrapped it and began to suck contentedly.

  The canvas case holding the Wechsler Intelligence Scale for Children—Third Edition, was placed next to her chair. Skye took a spiral-bound booklet from the case and opened it to a few pages from the front. “What’s missing from this picture?”

  Touching the button on her stopwatch, she started timing how long it took him to answer. If he took over the allowed limit, he would not get credit even if his answer was correct.

  Once that subtest was completed, they went on to the second, in which Skye asked Zach questions designed to measure his general knowledge. In all, there were ten required subtests and three optional ones. They measured abilities ranging from attention to detail to short-term visual memory. Half the subtests were given and responded to verbally. The remaining required no language skills on the part of the student.

  Since the WISC-III took ninety minutes to administer, only thirty minutes of the school day remained when they had finished. Knowing that the achievement test would take at least an hour, Skye decided to give the Bender Visual-Motor Gestalt Test instead so she wouldn’t have to stop partway through the other instrument.

  She got out the manila envelope that contained the index cards and laid it on the desk in front of her. “Zach, for this measure I want you to make your drawing look as much like the one on the card as you can.” She tried to avoid using the word test as much as possible, since many children become anxious hearing it.

  Skye put a sheet of white paper in front of Zach. The longest side was placed parallel to the table edge. Next she gave him a sharpened pencil with a good eraser. Finally she set the first of the nine index cards in front of him.

  She watched carefully as he began, making notes about how he approached the task and how long it took him to execute each picture.

  After he finished drawing the last geometric shape, Skye said, “Take a good look at what you’ve drawn.” She paused. “Have you looked it over?”

  “Yes.”

  Taking away that paper, she replaced it with another blank sheet. “This time I want to see how many shapes you can remember. They don’t have to be drawn as well as the first time, but try to remember as many as you can.”

  Zach drew six figures, then squirmed in his seat and chewed on his pencil before giving up. “Why did you have me do that?”

  “On the first part, when you were copying the figures, I was trying to see how well your eye and your hand work together. This last portion was to measure how well you remember what you see. When I asked you to repeat the numbers after me and then say other sequences backward, it was to assess how well you remember what you hear.”

  “That number thing was hard, especially going backward.”

  “Yeah, remembering what you hear is difficult for you. That’s why when teachers tell you something instead of showing it to you, it’s hard for you to learn.”

  “Why do they teach that way, then?”

  “Because some kids remember things they hear better than what they see. It’s impossible to please everyone. That’s why Mrs. Boyd and her assistants are there to help you.”

  The ringing of the dismissal bell took them both by surprise.

  Zach got up and grabbed his backpack. “Do I come back here tomorrow?”

  “Yes, we need to look at your reading, math, and spelling, and then I have to ask you a few questions. I’ll leave a pass for you telling when you’re supposed to come.”

  “ ’Bye, Ms. Denison.”

  “ ’Bye, Zach.”

  Skye packed up her equipment and put the cases near the door. She kept everything in her car trunk, since most of the instruments had to be shared among the schools. After locking the file cabinet, she put her purse over her shoulder and hoisted the test kits off the floor.

  In the parking lot she set the cases on the ground near her car while she fished her keys out of her purse and unlocked the trunk to put the cases inside. Suddenly a hand reached around her and banged down the trunk lid.

  Lloyd was standing right behind her. His eyes bulged and his face was rigid. He grabbed her by the upper arm and yanked. “Come to my office immediately.”

  Caught off guard, Skye stumbled as she went along with him. His fingers were cutting off the circulation in her arm. He shoved her into his office and slammed the door.

  Skye tried to stay calm. “What is it, Lloyd?”

  “ ‘What is it, Lloyd?’ ” he mimicked. “I want to know whatever gave you the idea that you had the authority to call the police?”

  “You’re talking about yesterday when your office was ransacked?”

  “Of course I’m talking about that. Are you in the habit of calling the police?”

  She deciding not to answer that question on the grounds it could incriminate her. Instead, she asked a question of her own. “Why would I not call the police after discovering that your office was vandalized?”

  “Are you questioning my orders?” Lloyd grabbed her again.

  She was ready this time and used a self-defense technique she’d been taught in the Peace Corps—shoving her thumb into his wrist and applying pressure until his hand bent backward. Lloyd yelped and released her, stumbling back into his desk.

  “Don’t touch me again, or when I call the police this time it will be to report an assault.” Skye backed away, putting a chair between them.

  Lloyd stopped. She could almost see his mind working. He visibly forced himself to calm down. “In the future I would prefer to make those kinds of decisions. We often handle minor problems in-house.” He smiled insincerely and sat down behind his desk. “You do understand.”

  Uninvited, Skye also sat. “Yes, I understand that. What I don’t understand is what makes you think you have the right to shout and manhandle me.”

  Pushing up the sleeve of her blouse, she displayed the angry red mark where his fingers had grabbed her.

  He looked uneasy.

  “I sure hope Uncle Charlie doesn’t notice if this turns into a bruise.”

  “I apologize.” He spoke through gritted teeth. “We’ll want to keep this episode between ourselves. You know how easily rumors get started.”

  Skye smiled slightly. “Yes. Rumors certainly do start easily and die hard. In fact, there was something I heard about you yesterday that I wanted you to clarify.”

  “Fine. I have no secrets,” Lloyd replied jovially, apparently attempting to make up for his earlier behavior.

  “You’ve probably heard that my brother, Vince, was taken in for questioning regarding Honey Adair’s murder?” Skye looked at Lloyd, who nodded. “I’m very concerned about this, and so I’ve been trying to find out more about
Honey when she lived here.”

  “What has this got to do with me?” Lloyd fidgeted in his chair.

  “Someone told me you were her softball coach the summer before her senior year.”

  “Really? I don’t recall.” Lloyd continued in a patronizing tone. “After all, I coached numerous sports for many years. I can’t be expected to remember every student on every team.”

  “From what I was told, you should remember Honey. I understand the two of you had a closer relationship than you would have had with most of your students.”

  Lloyd’s face reddened with angry color, and he lunged to his feet. “Who told you that? It’s a lie! If I hear you repeating that piece of crap, I’ll not only sue you for slander, I’ll make sure you’re dismissed. And don’t think Charlie Patukas can protect your job. I’ve been talking to people at your old school. I know that you were fired, and I know why.”

  Skye was so upset by her confrontation with Lloyd that she was halfway home before she remembered that she had to get her paycheck in the bank before her account was overdrawn.

  She pulled up behind a bright-green “duallie” truck with four rear tires instead of two, giving it the appearance of a toad. A purple bumper sticker read, MY KID CAN BEAT UP YOUR HONOR STUDENT. Skye had liked the original bumper stickers boasting of having a child who was an honor student, but trust Scumble River to come up with a grotesque variation.

  Her banking took longer than she planned. Gillian, one of her least favorite relatives, was on duty at the teller’s window, dressed in a hot-pink zip-front suit. The jacket was open to the waist, revealing a black stretch-lace camisole with a low neckline. Skye blinked and looked again. She didn’t remember Gillian’s being so well endowed. Skye would have bet money that Gillian was wearing either silicone or a Wonderbra.

  “Well, if it isn’t my long-lost cousin Skye. Ginger said she saw you last night at the grocery store. When are you going to come visit?” Gillian asked.

  Gillian was Ginger’s twin sister. Both worked as tellers at Scumble River First National Bank. This often confused the customers, as well as the management. The twins were proof that evolution can go in reverse. Instead of getting smarter and learning from their experiences, both women tended to repeat the same mistakes over and over, with increasingly dire results.