Murder of a Sleeping Beauty (11 page)

The old wooden desk was big enough to spread out files and sort through forms. Skye had managed to keep her tiny office in the junior high, even though she was supposed to have had it for only one year. This year, the elementary school had given her a space to work, but she had to share it with the speech pathologist. The high school was the only holdout in providing her with a room, but she was still working on Homer.

Skye had just finished writing the passes when Charlie entered her office. “Wally’s going to talk to the parents at three-thirty. He was busy this morning.”

She noticed today that Charlie looked every one of his seventy-plus years. His normally fluffy white hair lay flat, and his usual vigorous gait was slow and plodding. She had to find the murderer before the stress killed her godfather.

“Should be okay if the parents were notified.” Skye reached for her appointment book and made a note.

“The PTO phone tree got the message out.”

Skye nodded. She knew that the PTO phone tree was a better communication device than anything in the Department of Defense. Once the president made the first call, it would take the end of the world to stop the rest of the ladies from calling their designated list of names, who would then call their lists, and so on, until every parent in Scumble River had received the message.

Charlie paused at the door. “I’ll be back after school. Give me a jingle if you need me any sooner.”

A few minutes later, at precisely seven-thirty-five, starting time for teachers, Coach poked his head into the guidance office and groaned. “You here again?”

“Yes. Do you need something?”

“My office back,” he grumbled.

“Sorry. How about using your office in the gym?”

“Have to share it with the other PE teacher,” he complained.

“I certainly know how hard it is to have to share space.” The barrel-shaped man backed out, muttering.

“Let’s chat again,” Skye trilled to the slammed door.

She hurriedly delivered the passes to the school secretary and grabbed a cup of coffee, sliding back behind her desk just as the first bell rang.

A few minutes later Elvira Doozier, her first appointment, erupted into the room. “Yeah, what do you want?”

The girl looked almost exactly as she had the day she ran into Skye’s office and announced that Sleeping Beauty was dead. Same type of low-riding pants and belly shirt. Same pierced navel. And same long, straight, two-toned hair.

“Have a seat, Elvira. When you weren’t at school yesterday, I was concerned that maybe finding Lorelei like you did might have upset you.”

“Nope, just didn’t want to talk to the cops.” The teen glared at Skye. “I don’t want to talk to anyone.”

“I can understand that.” Skye paused and changed her direction. “So, are you related to Earl and Junior Doozier?”

“Earl’s my brother and Junior’s my nephew. You know them from the time they pulled you from the river, right?”

“Right.” Skye smiled. “Junior helped me out a couple of times.”

“Yeah, by helping you out last year, he got my other brother, Hap, thrown in jail.”

“Are you saying that was a bad thing?”

“Well, it kept him off of hitting on his boy,” Elvira admitted. “Earl takes care of my nephew Cletus now.”

“Sounds like maybe things turned out for the best.” Skye leaned forward. “So, tell me about finding Lorelei.”

“Like I told you that day, I cut class to sneak a smoke in the gym, saw her laying there, and grabbed you.”

“How close did you get to Lorelei?” Skye was sure Elvira would have gone up for a close-up look.

“I never stepped much past the door.”

“How could you tell she was dead?”

Elvira’s smile was that of a very old woman. “I’ve seen dead people before. Dead people is easy to spot.”

Skye didn’t particularly want to know why the teen had such an intimate knowledge of corpses. “Did you see anyone in the hall when you were going in and out of the gym?”

“No one was around.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah. Just me and the dead cheerleader.” Elvira fingered the ring in her navel.

“Why, out of all the adults, did you come get me?”

“Remembered seeing you here on my way to the gym.” Elvira spoke to her lap. “And Junior thinks you’re okay.”

“Did you know any of Lorelei’s friends?”

“No way, man.” Elvira shook her head so hard that her long hair formed a cloak. “Those girls are brutal.”

 

Frannie Ryan marched into the guidance office and sat down facing Skye. “I didn’t kill her.”

Skye fought for a neutral expression. “Do you mean Lorelei?”

“How many dead bodies have you found around here?”

“Should we be looking for others?” The hair on the back of Skye’s neck rose. She could feel this girl’s anger from across her desk.

“None that I know of, but I wouldn’t be unhappy to see a few more princesses added to the list.” Frannie’s long lashes veiled her expression.

“They’ve hurt you?” Skye had seen firsthand the devious, self-esteem-destroying tactics commonly used on some teenage girls by the more popular girls.

Frannie snorted. “Their brand of social fascism is so galactically brutal, you end up bleeding to death before you even feel the knife go in.”

“Was Lorelei like that?” Skye asked. Talk about a motive for murder.

“She was more subtle. Most kids think she was so nice, but they didn’t realize that anything her posse did, she approved beforehand.” Frannie sat rigidly, waves of hostility pouring off of her.

“That sounds like a lot of power.”

“Lorelei Ingels was the sun, and the student body of Scumble River High revolved around her.”

“And she didn’t like you?” Skye asked.

“In her world, I didn’t even deserve that much respect. I’ve been taking dance since I was six, and I’m good. Despite my size, I’m also good at gymnastics. Obviously with these boobs, I’ll never make the Olympic team, but I have talent. Mrs. Frayne noticed me at a dance recital, and asked me to try out for the cheerleading squad. I was so up.”

“You thought this was your chance to fit in,” Skye ventured.

Frannie nodded, color rising in her cheeks. “I’ve never seen my dad so proud of me. I practiced and practiced until I knew the routines cold. I was great at the tryout.”

“What happened?” Skye was afraid she could guess the answer.

“The next day Mrs. Frayne took me aside and said she was sorry, I didn’t make the squad.” Frannie looked at Skye with tears shining in her eyes.

“That must have been painful.”

“I couldn’t figure what I had done wrong until the other cheerleaders surrounded me after school. Zoë was the one who talked, but they were all there. She said if I ever told anyone that they had even let me try out, she’d make my pathetic life even more miserable.” Frannie bit back a sob.

Skye handed her a tissue. “What did you do?”

“I asked why.” Frannie shot Skye a look. “Pretty stupid, huh?”

“It’s hard to make good decisions when you’re experiencing that kind of hurt.”

“Zoë said it would be too humiliating for the school to have it known that a fat girl was even considered for cheerleader.” Frannie sat back. “She said she didn’t know what Mrs. Frayne was thinking when she asked me to try out. That it was a good thing all the cheerleaders got to vote, or Mrs. Frayne would load the squad with fat girls.”

“How devastating.”

“I’m just so tired of always being on the outside looking in,” Frannie whispered. “Your destiny is determined by the color of your hair, the shape of your body, and the label on your clothes. Despite all the crap you endure, they always pick someone else.”

There was little Skye could say to that, but she gave it a try. “I know this sounds bogus, but things usually get a lot better once you’re out of high school. In college you have a much wider choice of friends and can find other kids who think like you do. A lot of times the princes and princesses of high school find the rest of life a lot different. For them the best time is their teenage years, but the rest of us are happier as adults.”

The girl looked at her skeptically. “I sure hope you’re right.”

“Me too.” After a moment, Skye gently asked, “Frannie, where were you seventh and eighth period Wednesday?”

The girl sat up. “Art and math, with about forty other kids. Hard to say if anyone would remember me or not.”

“The bell is going to ring any second. If you ever want to talk again, just leave me a note, and we’ll set something up.”

Frannie got up from the chair and gathered her things. “They say you should never say anything about the dead unless it’s good.” She waited for Skye’s nod. “Lorelei’s dead. Good!”

 

 

 

 

S
kye didn’t have any time to recover from the session with Frannie before Troy Yates, Lorelei’s boyfriend, arrived. The blond Adonis with a buzz haircut strode into the office as if he owned the place and was considering selling it.

He nodded at Skye and sat. “You wanted to see me, Ms. D.?”

“Yes, I wanted to check and see how you were today. Sometimes a loss doesn’t hit a person right away.” Skye noticed the boy sat perfectly straight in his chair.

“I can’t believe she’s gone.”

“Had you been dating long?”

“We’ve gone steady since eighth grade.” He dug his wallet out of his pocket. “These are pictures of us at every dance.”

Skye shuffled through the small pile of photos. “They’re wonderful.” She handed them back to Troy. “Were you planning on attending the same college?”

A cloud crossed Troy’s face. “I’m going to Notre Dame on a football scholarship. Lorelei tried to get into their theater department, but she didn’t make the cut.”

“Did she have backup plans?”

He shrugged. “She didn’t like to talk about it.”

“No, I imagine that would be a difficult subject for someone who’s used to winning.”

Troy nodded and launched into a story about Lorelei and a game of Trivial Pursuit. Skye made encouraging sounds, and the teen reminisced for the rest of the period.

Skye noticed they were almost out of time, and said, “Troy, do you think you need to talk to someone a few more times about Lorelei’s death?” During his talk about their past he’d seemed sad, but not devastated. Of course, with adolescents it wasn’t always easy to tell how they really felt. They often put on a cool demeanor that covered up their real feelings, sometimes even from themselves.

“No, I think I’m okay.”

“If you change your mind, leave a note for me with the secretary.” Skye pointed toward the main office.

“Okay.”

“Just a couple more things. Was Lorelei in the habit of bringing bottled beverages from home?”

“No, we’re not supposed to bring any drinks into school except milk.”

“And she never tried to sneak something in?” Skye had always thought this was one of those stupid, unenforceable edicts that small schools seemed to love. She knew the truth behind this particular policy—Scumble River High got a kickback from the milk vendor.

“No, ma’am. Lorelei wasn’t one to break the rules.”

Skye hated being called “ma’am.” It made her feel older than dirt and half as attractive. “Where were you Wednesday, during seventh and eighth period?”

“Study hall and baseball practice.”

“Does Chase Wren play on your team?”

“Sure. We’re in all the sports together.”

“Was he there Wednesday?” Skye had a sudden inspiration to ask.

“No. And Coach was mad.”

Mmm. Chase hadn’t shown up for either of the activities he was scheduled for. Skye made a note to follow up on that.

As soon as Troy’s session ended, Skye scooted out of her office to make sure things elsewhere were running smoothly. When she stuck her head around the corner of the band room, the co-op social worker gave her a thumbs-up.

In the library, Trixie was deep into a conversation with a student. Skye didn’t want to interrupt, so she wasn’t able to ask about the cheerleading meeting, as she had planned to.

Since she heard no sobbing or screaming in the building, she concluded the situation was under control and went back to her office.

Zoë strolled in nearly ten minutes after the bell rang. By rights she should have been issued a detention, but Skye was in an awkward position. Follow the school rules to the letter or establish rapport?

“I hope you’re okay,” Skye said, as Zoë took a seat. “I was worried when the bell rang and you weren’t here.”

“I had to fix my eyeliner. It had totally smudged.”

“Were you upset about Lorelei?” Skye wondered if maybe the tough act was just a veneer, and Zoë really was grieving over the other girl’s death.

The teen looked surprised. “No. We were cooking in Home Ec today, and that old-maid teacher made us chop onions rather than use the food processor. She has no concept that hers isn’t the only class, that I have to look good for the rest of the day, too.”

“Oh, your mom dropped by yesterday afternoon and said you were very upset.”

“Yeah, well, things change.” Zoë slouched in her seat.

“So, you don’t need to talk about Lorelei’s death?”

“I don’t need a shrink, if that’s what you mean.” Zoë straightened. “Listen, between you and me, our mutual-admiration society was screeching to a halt.”

“You and Lorelei were fighting?”

“No. Like they say in court, irreconcilable differences. She was starting to bring the group down. She bagged on a bunch of parties.”

“Oh.”

“We were going to different cheerleading camps this summer and different colleges in the fall. We were, like, drifting.”

“One last question and I’ll let you go.” Skye studied the teen. “Did Lorelei bring any beverage in a bottle to school?”