Murder of a Cranky Catnapper (2 page)

“Please return to your seat, Duncan,” Skye said. “Dr. Quillen isn't a people doctor. He's a veterinarian. He's going to help us—”

“No!” Alvin dropped to his knees, then tilted his head toward the ceiling and howled.

“Alvin, use your words.” Skye checked her watch. The vet would be here any second. She had to get control of the session. With one boy cowering in a corner and the other baying at the moon, she wasn't sure which to address first.

As she considered her options, the door swung open and Dr. Linc Quillen strode inside. He had a beautiful Maine coon cat in a Pet Taxi and a Siberian husky on a leash.

“Wolf! It's a wolf!” Clifford screamed. “He's going to eat us.”

“It's only a dog.” Skye jumped to her feet, trying to calm the boys and herd them back into their chairs. “He's a nice doggy. Really.”

But it was too late for reassurances. Group hysteria took over and the boys scattered. Alvin, Duncan, Gavin, and Christopher huddled against the far wall, but Clifford skirted around Dr. Quillen and the animals and ran out the door.

“Sorry!” Skye yelled, dashing after the escapee, adding, “Keep an eye on the boys. I'll be right back.”

Skye sprinted down the hallway, then realized the
others might try to follow her. Just as she twisted her neck to look, she heard footsteps in front of her. Before she could swing her head toward the sound, she slammed into what felt like a brick wall. Flailing her arms for balance, she lost her footing. But before she could fall, hands gripped her arms and steadied her.

Skye's gaze shot to her rescuer's face.
Shit!
The man holding her upright was Palmer Lynch, the school board member who was running against her godfather, Charlie Patukas, for the presidency. She was so screwed.

Time spent with a cat is never wasted.

—COLETTE

H
alf an hour later, Skye sat in the principal's office trying not to cringe as Palmer Lynch paced back and forth yelling at her. He was an attractive man in his late forties, with blond hair and gray-blue eyes. However, despite his handsome face, at over six feet tall and with a muscular build, he was a bit intimidating.

“What in God's green earth were you doing with animals in a school?” Palmer demanded.

“Pet therapy.” Skye kept her voice unruffled, but she was clenching her hands so tightly her fingernails were digging into her palms.

“You mean snake oil,” Palmer jeered, then whirled around and pointed toward Caroline Greer. “How could you approve of exposing our precious children to those vicious creatures?”

Skye looked at the grade school principal, who sat calmly behind her desk. Caroline reminded her of a partridge—short, round, and with a considerable monobosom. She had poufy white hair, black-framed glasses, and a beaky red nose. But that was where the resemblance ended. Caroline was anything but fussy. Although nurturing toward the students in her charge, the woman had
a no-nonsense attitude toward adults, a trait that Skye admired.

When Caroline remained silent, Palmer continued, “As the principal, I would expect better judgment of you. Do you have any kind of excuse?”

“Many of the students in the group Skye is working with have proven exceptionally difficult to help and the parents requested additional services,” Caroline answered, seeming unaffected by the board member's outrage.

“Right,” Palmer sneered. “If your kid can't hack it, blame someone else and seek counseling.”

“In attempting to support them,” Caroline continued as if Palmer hadn't spoken, “Skye suggested animal-assisted therapy and provided me with studies that show this therapy has been successfully utilized to improve social, emotional, and cognitive functioning.” The principal raised an eyebrow. “And I hardly call a dog and cat wild beasts.”

“Obviously some of the children felt differently since one boy was running down the hall as if the hounds of hell were on his tail.” Palmer's face was the color of a freshly boiled lobster.

“I'm afraid the introduction of the new treatment didn't go as smoothly as I would have liked,” Skye admitted. “But once Dr. Quillen had a chance to properly introduce the boys to his therapy animals, they enjoyed the sessions. And after they've had a few more meetings, I'm sure they will gain some new coping strategies.”

“There will be no future sessions!” Palmer hit his hand on Caroline's desk so hard, the pencil holder fell over, spilling the contents across the blotter. “The liability for animals in the building alone—”

“Skye obtained written permission from all the children's parents and I've cleared things with the school attorney, as well as the insurance carrier. Therapy animals
are no different from having a Seeing Eye Dog in the classroom. We are totally covered.” Caroline rose from her seat, marched to the door, and opened it. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I have another appointment.”

“What?” Palmer stuttered. “We aren't through discussing this.”

“I've noted your concerns.” Caroline stood firm. “And if the board votes with you on this matter, I will, of course, follow their instructions. But as an individual member, you do not have the authority to stipulate the day-to-day running of this school.”

“You girls haven't heard the last of this. You'd better obey me,” Palmer threatened as he snatched his cell phone from his jacket pocket. When Caroline didn't respond, he snarled, “Are you deaf?”

“I am not hard of hearing, Mr. Lynch,” Caroline said coolly. “But I have heard enough.”

“Are you sassing me?” Palmer's eyes bulged.

“No.” Caroline's tone was icy. “I'm saying that you do not have the right to come into my school and play God.”

“The position was vacant,” Palmer snapped.

“It's time for you to leave.” Caroline gestured to the open door.

“Little lady, you're making a big mistake.” Palmer's eyes narrowed and he fumbled with his phone. “You'll see just how much power I already have.” As he dialed, he skewered Skye with a cold stare. “And your precious Uncle Charlie won't be able to help you.”

Once Palmer was out of sight, Caroline folded her arms and said, “That man reminds me of a cloud.”

“Huh?”

“When he finally goes away, it's a beautiful day.”

“Right.” Skye chuckled.

She was stunned by Caroline's reaction to Palmer. Usually, the principal would have been much more
deferential toward a board member. What had gotten into her?

Caroline leaned against the wall. “Lynch had better not be elected board president or I'm retiring.”

“Do you think Charlie has anything to worry about?” Skye asked.

“It's hard to say.” Caroline frowned. “There were several new members from the last election and no one knows which way they're leaning.” She paused. “And unfortunately, nowadays good judgment is so rare, it could almost be thought of as a superpower.”

“Too true,” Skye agreed. “Maybe we should have Captain Common Sense T-shirts printed up.”

“But who would we give them to?”

“Point taken.” Skye smiled, then said, “I think I'll call Uncle Charlie and fill him in about today.” Skye glanced at the principal, who nodded her agreement. “I'll let you know what he has to say about Palmer's chances.”

“You do that.” Caroline nodded. “You said that the rest of the pet therapy session went well once the boys settled down and Dr. Quillen got started.”

“Yes.” Skye smiled. “The animals were amazingly obedient and the kids really responded positively to the exercises.”

“Thank goodness for small favors.” Caroline stepped back inside her office and said, “Stop by Wednesday after the next pet therapy group and give me an update.”

“Will do.” Skye waved and hurried away.

She was glad she'd decided to have twice weekly sessions with the animals. With so little time left in the school year, any fewer meetings wouldn't have been productive.

When Skye walked past the school secretary, Fern looked up from her computer screen and handed Skye a phone message on a pink slip of paper. Before she could read it, the woman grabbed her arm.

Clutching Skye's wrist, Fern said, “I'm so sorry I couldn't let you know that Mr. Lynch was heading your way. I'd just got back from showing Dr. Quillen where your group was meeting when that awful man barged into the office. He was quite rude when I told him that Mrs. Greer was on the phone. He said he didn't have time to wait for a babysitter, demanded the keys for the old wing, and took off on his own.”

“That's okay.” Skye pried the secretary's hand from the death grip the woman had on her arm. “I doubt a warning would have helped.”

“Mr. Lynch wasn't on my schedule.” Fern blinked rapidly, pecking at her fingernails with her teeth.

“How inconsiderate of him, Twe—” Skye cut herself off just in time.

Fern was a small-boned woman who dressed in shades of brown and tan. When she was upset, she flapped her arms as if she was about to take flight. That, along with her tendency to sound as if she were cheeping when she spoke, had earned her the nickname
Tweets
. Not that anyone in the school was unkind enough to call the fragile woman that to her face, but sometimes it was hard not to slip up.

Skye smiled at Fern, then quickly said, “I'm sure you did your best to accommodate him.”

As the secretary continued to apologize, Skye glanced at the while-you-were-out memo. It was from Homer Knapik, the high school principal. He was rescheduling the next day's Pupil Personnel Services meeting from the afternoon to the morning.

PPS meetings were held in each school to assist students exhibiting academic, social, or physical needs. Skye, along with the principal, special education teacher, speech therapist, and nurse met to discuss children experiencing difficulties in those areas.

Skye grimaced. Homer's note meant she'd have to
contact Neva Llewellyn, the junior high principal, and tell her she needed to flip around her hours there. Skye didn't have to cancel any appointments at the junior high, but the principal would still be unhappy.

Neva felt that Homer monopolized Skye's time, and unfortunately, her complaints to the superintendent had been ignored. Scumble River was still very much a typical male-controlled small town. Although the vast majority of teachers were women, the head honcho was a man, who treated his female employees more like chattel than valued professionals.

Skye checked her watch. She'd better get to her office and call Neva right now while she had a chance. The elementary school's day would be ending in half an hour and she needed to talk to a couple of faculty members after the kids were dismissed, but before the staff was officially allowed to leave. Although a lot of the teachers remained late, Skye tried not to be the reason they had to put in overtime. Especially since there was no additional pay for any of the extra hours the faculty worked.

Twenty minutes later, after apologizing and repeatedly promising that the junior high would get its fair share of her services, Skye finally hung up the telephone and gazed unhappily around the room. Caroline might be the nicest of the three principals, but the space she provided for the psych office was the worst. It had started out as a storage room for the dairy refrigerator and other cafeteria supplies, and it still smelled like spoiled milk.

For some reason, no matter what type of tape, putty, or hangers Skye attempted to use to fasten posters to the drab gray walls, they refused to stay up. And with no windows, the only illumination came from the fluorescent fixture attached to the ceiling and the sickly light cast a nauseating chartreuse glow over everything.
When Skye worked with kids in there, it was disconcerting that their faces looked greener than Kermit the Frog.

Thank goodness her morning sickness had finally gone away or the revolting color would be too much for Skye's unsettled stomach to handle. Unfortunately, her increasing girth was another matter. It made navigating the small office even trickier than before.

The pair of visitor chairs occupying two thirds of the floor left little room to maneuver. There was no room for a file cabinet, and the desk had only one locking drawer, forcing Skye to carry most of the confidential folders with her. There were just too many people who had a key to the office to make it secure enough to leave restricted information unsecured.

Skye spent as little time as possible in the depressing spot, and when she heard the dismissal bell ring, she was more than ready to get out of there. To avoid having to return to it before heading home, she'd already loaded her tote with files and tucked her calendar into the side pocket of the bag. Now she settled her purse strap over her shoulder, switched off the light, and locked the door behind her.

The first person on her to-see list was Virginia Elders. Virginia was Clifford, Alvin, and Duncan's fourth grade teacher and Skye wanted to touch base with her about that afternoon's counseling session. Since Gavin and Christopher hadn't experienced the same degree of problems with the introduction of the pet therapy, she'd talk to their teacher afterward, or if he'd already left, just send him an e-mail to make sure they hadn't demonstrated any ill effects from the session.

When Skye entered the classroom, Virginia was grading papers at her desk. She was an attractive divorcée in her mid-forties. She'd been born and raised in Scumble River, taught at the elementary school ever
since she graduated from college, and in ten years or so she would probably retire from that same position.

After losing her nineteen-year-old son to a drug overdose, Virginia had sought out Skye's advice. Because of this, Skye felt more comfortable with her than some of the other teachers she didn't know as well.

“Hi, Virginia,” Skye said as she crossed the room. “How's it going?”

“Good.” Virginia looked up and smiled. “The grief counselor and I have decided that I'm ready to stop going to the weekly meetings.”

“That's great.” Skye looked around for a place to sit down. She was pretty sure she no longer fit in the pint-size student chairs with the attached desks. Unable to spot another option, she remained standing. “I'm glad that the Laurel Hospital group I suggested worked for you.”

“Me, too.” Virginia put down her red pen and wrinkled her brow. “A year ago, I would have sworn that I'd never get over the depression. Now, although I still think of Jameson every day and I'm sad a lot, I've admitted that he's truly gone.”

“That's really good progress.” Skye mentally checked off the four stages of recovering from losing a loved one—accepting the loss, getting through the pain, adjusting to life without the person, and moving on.

“I feel like I'm going to make it. Like I can start to have a life again.”

“I'm so glad for you.”

“Palmer has been a big help.” Virginia's brown eyes sparkled. “I think having someone—other than a counselor or member of the grief support group—to be with and to take my mind off the past was that final piece of the puzzle that I needed to heal.”

“Palmer Lynch?” Skye asked, her heart sinking. Her recent encounter with the overbearing man had not made her a fan of the district's newest board member.

“Yes.” Virginia looked at her quizzically. “Do you know him?”

“Of course I know
of
him, but we actually just met for the first time this afternoon.”

“Here at school?” Virginia asked, then answered herself. “Oh. That's right. Last night at dinner, he mentioned that he was going to drop by today to inspect the old wing. He feels strongly that it should be demolished.”