Murder of a Small-Town Honey srm-1

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Murder of a Small-Town Honey srm-1 Page 12

by Denise Swanson


  Slowly, Skye followed him into the school. He led her to the health room and closed the door. After they were seated, he took out his notebook and clicked his pen. "Tell me what happened. Start with why you were here after everyone else went home."

  She shrugged. "What can I say? I'm either dedicated or foolish, take your pick. The school system hasn't had a psy­chologist in almost a year. They still don't have a social worker. There's a ton of paperwork that the state and fed­eral agencies require be done ... in triplicate. I'm trying to catch up so I can do my real job of working with kids."

  "It sounds like my job. More paperwork than police work."

  "In a small town you have to do both—be an administra­tor and go out in the field." Skye tried to gain brownie points by demonstrating her empathy.

  Chief Boyd nodded and leaned toward her. "Okay, when did Ursula and Lloyd leave?"

  "They usually leave between four and four-thirty. I checked with Ursula at about three-fifteen to see if Lloyd could see me. She said he was unavailable but didn't give any details. Then I got involved with what I was doing and forgot to go back until I decided to call it a day at five."

  "Did you see anyone when you walked from your office to Lloyd's?"

  "No, It was sort of spooky. Like someone gave a signal and the place just cleared out. Or like they'd all been beamed aboard the Enterprise."

  The chief made a note. "I'll have to check and see if this is typical behavior. I don't suppose you've been around long enough to tell?"

  Skye shook her head. "Was there anyone in the building when you searched it?"

  "We found a custodian in the boiler room, but that was it. Tell me what you did when you found Lloyd's office trashed."

  "I backed out the door, used the phone on Ursula's desk, and called you."

  "What did you do until we got here?"

  "Well, I knew there was no one in Lloyd's room or up here in the front office, so I sat in Ursula's chair where I could see the entrance. The only thing I touched was the telephone and Lloyd's door. Do you think this has anything to do with the murder?"

  He shrugged. "I can't see how, but you never know."

  Sitting silently, Skye debated whether to mention his wife's peculiar behavior and what she had found out about Lloyd. She finally decided to tell him what she knew about Lloyd but not mention Darleen. "Ah, Chief, I did happen to hear about a connection between Lloyd and Honey."

  He raised an eyebrow. "How did you 'happen to hear' about this connection?"

  "I was chatting with Abby Fleming, the district nurse, and she mentioned that Lloyd coached a softball team that she and Honey were on the summer before their senior year in high school."

  "That's not exactly a close association. He coached vari­ous sports for several years. There are a lot of people in town who were on those teams."

  Skye hesitated, not wanting to start an unsubstantiated rumor. "Abby did allude to a closer relationship than stu­dent and coach."

  "What do you mean by 'allude to' ?"

  "She said they seemed very close. More so than he and other students."

  "This was just an opinion, right? Abby didn't actually witness any impropriety?"

  "No, I think it was only an impression."

  He took her hand. "I know you don't want to think that Vince could have killed her, but you have to consider the facts. They all point to him."

  Skye snatched her hand from his grasp. "All the facts do not point to him. You have to consider that you haven't looked at anyone but him. Which makes me wonder why. There are a lot of people in this town who hated Honey Adair and had good reasons to want to see her dead."

  She paused, knowing that if she continued she'd be sorry. Stealing a peek at the chief, she saw a look of conde­scension on his face and lost control.

  Her words tumbled out with no pauses for breath. "Lloyd Stark may have been intimate with her when she was underage. Abby Fleming certainly hated her for break­ing up the relationship Abby and Vince had in high school. Charlie Patukas inherits a lot of money with her dead. Mike Young had an intense relationship with Honey until she went after Vince. And last, but definitely not least, your wife had reason to hate her for stealing Mike away."

  Without giving him a chance to reply, Skye stood up and stalked out of the room. She got into her car and drove home, refusing to think about what she had just done. It wasn't until she was in her bedroom changing clothes that she allowed herself to consider the consequences of her im­pulsiveness.

  She sat on the bed and pounded her knee with her fist. 7 hate it when I put my mouth in gear without first engaging my brain. What have I accomplished by provoking Chief Boyd? Nothing. Up until now he has treated me like the old friend I was. He hasn't done anything to deserve that abuse.

  Then an idea crossed her mind, and she stopped hitting her leg. This whole thing could force the chief to look at other suspects. Maybe this isn't such a bad thing. Maybe he won't be angry that I threw his wife's high school fling in his face. Yeah, and maybe pigs will fly, too.

  A glance at her clock radio told her it was five after seven. That Big Mac had been a long time ago. She went into her kitchen, and over to the refrigerator. The shelves were empty. It was time to go to the grocery store.

  Clouds had continued to roll in, and it was beginning to get dark when Skye pulled into the parking lot of the super­market. She winced as a flash of lightning illuminated the asphalt. Hunger, stress, and heat had given her a raging headache.

  As she cruised the lot looking for an open slot, her emo­tions ranged from self-pity to outrage, settling somewhere near resignation. In her exhausted state she felt as if she had been looking for a parking place for hours. She recovered somewhat when she saw someone getting into a car parked only three spaces from the door.

  Pulling up almost behind the occupied vehicle, Skye put her turn signal on, indicating her intention to claim the spot. True to the tenor of her day, the people in the car took an eternity to get settled and start to move out. Finally their brake lights came on and they began to inch backward.

  They were barely out of the parking place when a white Lexus zipped into the space, narrowly missing Skye's right front bumper. She pounded on her horn, which produced only a feeble whimper, but the auburn-haired driver exited his car and entered the store without glancing back.

  Still fuming, Skye finally made her way into the store after being forced to park what seemed like a mile and a half from the door. By that time the rain had started and she was soaked.

  Scraping her wet hair back into a ponytail, she headed for the soda aisle. It looked almost as barren as her refriger­ator.

  She was reaching for the last six-pack of Diet Coke on the shelf when a long, tanned arm reached above her and grabbed it.

  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 reach
ing 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-fiance—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-fiance", 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 conies 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 fiance 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 either 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."

 

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