Murder of a Sleeping Beauty (17 page)

May quickly filled in. “You want to know about Lorelei’s autopsy and when the body will be released.”

“Thanks, Mom.” Skye smiled. That’s one of the nice things about living in a small town. Even if you don’t know what you’re doing, someone else probably does. “So, can you fill me in?” Skye asked.

“No.”

“What?” Skye couldn’t believe what she had heard.

“I said no. You have no right to that information.”

“I see.” Skye could feel her temper rising. She’d wanted to yell at Wally for a long time. The only thing that had stopped her was that he was in the right. She
had
betrayed his trust.

“Good.” He had been standing in the doorway between the dispatcher’s office and the interrogation room. Now he moved toward the other door leading to the stairs.

Skye followed him. “So how am I supposed to help the kids deal with Lorelei’s death if I don’t know what really happened, or even when she’ll be buried?”

He shrugged. “That’s not my problem.”

“No, it’s mine and the community’s.” Skye tried to speak evenly.

“You just want an excuse to nose around and play Sherlock Holmes.”

“That’s not true.” She shushed the small voice inside her head that told her she might be lying. “If this isn’t handled right, we could have a rash of suicides in response to Lorelei’s death.” Skye knew she was exaggerating, but it was possible. It had happened. She had read about it in the literature.

“I think all that crap about grieving and the seven stages and all that is just hooey you shrinks thought up to make a lot of money,” Wally said, looking straight into Skye’s eyes. “And I think you get a kick out of running around and being important and
saving
everyone.”

Skye’s lips thinned with anger. “What did you say?”

“You get a thrill out of being the center of attention. Your true reason for wanting to know this stuff is that you’re nosy.” His tone dripped with contempt. He tried to brush past her and go up the stairs.

She stepped into his path and threw her words at him like stones, wanting to hurt him back. “Ah, that explains your unreasonable hostility. Counseling didn’t work for you and Darleen, did it? So, of course it can’t be worthwhile for other people. Then you’d have to admit you failed as a husband.”

His eyes blazed dark fire, and he grabbed her by the upper arms. Time froze, then with a curse he moved her out of his way and stomped up the stairs.

She heard his office door slam, and she slowly turned and went back into the dispatcher’s office. What was wrong with her? Was she deliberately destroying any chance she had for a relationship with a man to whom she was attracted? Why had she intentionally poked and prodded at all his vulnerabilities? What had she been thinking?

It was plain that May had heard every word of the argument. Mother and daughter looked at each other in silence. May nodded to a chair, and Skye sank into it gratefully. Her knees were oddly weak, and her head was throbbing. She hated losing her temper.

“So,” May said, “is that smoke coming out of your ears from the bridge you just burned?” Her mother wasn’t much into comforting people.

Skye wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. “Was that as bad as I think it was?”

May nodded.

“Why did I let him get to me like that?” Skye buried her head in her hands.

“He sure knew the right buttons to push.” May tugged on her ear. “Of course, you were right in there, jabbing at his sore spots, too.”

“Is he right? Am I only involved in this investigation to make myself feel important?” Skye looked down at the tissue she was shredding.

“Probably a little. That’s human nature. But you’re also doing it because you like to help people.” May reached over and lifted Skye’s chin. “Even when you were little you were always the one who wanted to help. You used to iron for Grandma, and wrap all of Aunt Kitty’s Christmas presents, and you were always the one who insisted we stop at the nursing home to visit your great-grandma.”

Skye sniffed. It wasn’t like her mom to say something that nice. “I think I just learned an important lesson.”

“What?”

“It takes years to build up trust, and only a second to destroy it.” Skye shook her head. “I don’t think Wally is ever going to forgive me.”

“That may be true. But if he doesn’t, is he the kind of man you’d want—even to be friends with?”

May’s insights sometimes surprised Skye. “No, I guess not.” She got to her feet. “I suppose if he can’t see why I had to talk to those survivalists alone, then he doesn’t and won’t ever understand me.”

“That’s right, honey. And you don’t want a man like that.”

Skye nodded and got back to business. She whispered in May’s ear as she hugged her, “Can you get a copy of the autopsy?”

May shook her head, and whispered back, “No, the creep has it locked in his personal safe, and I don’t have the combination.”

“Rats. Have they said anything about releasing the body?”

“Not in front of me.” May made a face. “They’re keeping it all very hush-hush. The file isn’t even in the cabinet, and there’s nothing in the computer.”

“I wonder what the big secret is.” Skye’s brows drew together. “We know she died from an overdose of pills, and we’re pretty sure they weren’t self-administered, so what are they keeping from us? What does that autopsy show?”

May shrugged. “I’ll talk to the other dispatchers and see if they know anything.”

“Good idea.” Skye walked around to the other side of the counter. “I’ll think of a way of seeing that autopsy report yet,” she vowed.

 

 

 

 

B
ingo yowled in protest when Skye flung off the covers and jumped up. He looked at her with accusing eyes, as if to say: What are you doing getting up, I haven’t ordered you to fix my breakfast yet.

Skye had followed her normal school-night routine and gone to bed at ten. It was now a little after eleven, and she had yet to fall asleep. She couldn’t stop thinking about Lorelei.

Charlie had called around six, wanting to know her progress in solving the murder. She’d had to admit she wasn’t getting very far in her investigation. And since Wally was keeping her in the dark, she had no idea if the police were doing any better.

The faster these thoughts crowded into Skye’s mind, the faster she pulled on clothes. But after she had finished dressing, she didn’t know what to do.

She sat on the edge of the unmade bed and stroked Bingo, who had forgiven her earlier indiscretion and was curled up by her side. She petted in time with his purrs, nearly lulling herself into the sleep that had eluded her earlier.

Just as she was about to nod off, it hit her. She had to see the autopsy report. Otherwise, she had no idea what direction to go. Obviously, something in that report was important.

How could she get ahold of the document? Too bad she didn’t know any safecrackers. She was pretty good with locked doors, but she’d never get the police department’s safe open by herself.

There was only one other place where a second copy of the autopsy might be found: Simon’s office. As the coroner, he’d keep a copy for his records. Since he had no clerical staff and wouldn’t worry about anyone snooping, the report probably wasn’t even locked up. So how could she get into the funeral home and take a look?

She could pretend someone in her family had died, and she needed to make arrangements. No. He’d never leave her alone long enough. Could she talk Simon’s assistant, Xavier, into letting her in, to “surprise” Simon? That was a bad idea on two counts. Xavier might get into trouble, and he knew that she and Simon were no longer a couple.

Skye wandered over to her dresser and stared in the mirror. She looked at the black jeans, black sweatshirt, and black shoes she had put on. Unconsciously she had selected clothes appropriate for breaking into the funeral home.

Grabbing a dark baseball cap, she tucked her hair underneath. She hoped breaking and entering wasn’t getting to be a habit with her. Previously she’d searched a condo on the Gold Coast and a bungalow on the South Side of Chicago, but she’d sort of had permission for those two intrusions. So this was the first time she was truly going to do something illegal. Did that make her feel better or worse?

In the kitchen, Skye rummaged through her junk drawer. She retrieved a heavy-duty flashlight, a pair of surgical gloves from one of the first-aid kits the school nurse passed out every year, and a thin piece of celluloid she had confiscated from a student attempting to open a locker that wasn’t his.

As she closed her front door, Skye was struck with how distinctive the Bel Air really was. Not the ideal vehicle with which to commit a crime.

While she drove toward town, she thought about where she could stash the Chevy while she burgled the funeral home. “The Purloined Letter” popped into her head. She’d hide the car in plain sight.

She pulled into the back of the used-car lot on Stebler and tucked the Chevy in among the other vehicles. From there it was only four blocks to Reid’s Funeral Home. The streets were empty, and most of the houses looked as if their occupants were asleep. Skye shivered; the temperature had dropped back into the forties, and she could smell rain in the air. It was a cold spring.

She was a block from her destination when the barking started. It wasn’t the yapping of a cute little fur ball; it was the full-throated woofs of a large breed such as a Doberman or German shepherd. This was a good part of town, but old habits died hard, and many residents felt safe only with shot-guns beside their beds and big dogs in their yards.

Skye quickened her pace and tried to pinpoint where the growling was coming from, and whether it was getting any closer. The house she was passing was surrounded with chain-link fence. Suddenly, the source of the barking roared around a corner and threw itself at the metal barrier. Skye started to run, which further inflamed the Rottweiler.

Looking back over her shoulder, she could see the porch light come on. A man dressed only in long johns appeared on the front step holding a rifle. “Hey, what’s going on out there?” The man squinted past the pool of light and into the darkness.

The dog barked for a few more minutes, then gave up. Skye kept running until she reached Simon’s house. His windows were dark. Skye waited for her breathing to return to normal, then moved on.

Across the street, the front of the funeral home was brightly illuminated. She crept toward the back, where Simon’s office was located. It was shrouded in darkness, and she shivered again, this time not from the frigid air. She looked around. No one in sight. She pulled on the latex gloves.

When she thumbed on the flashlight she noticed the time on her watch. Ten minutes to twelve. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Breaking into a mortuary at midnight seemed pretty stupid.

Skye shook her head. This was real life, not some scene from a horror movie. There was nothing inside that could hurt her. Still, images of the living dead danced in her head, and she had to force herself to aim the light at the lock and slip the celluloid into the crack.

Nothing happened. What was she doing wrong? Maybe she should have used her trusty Swiss Army knife. The locks usually popped right open when she applied its thinnest blade to the bolt. The kid had told her that what he called a “ ’loid” worked better, but she didn’t think so.

Before she could try again, a hand descended on her shoulder, and she let out a muffled scream as she whirled around.

She couldn’t believe her eyes. “What are you doing here?”

Justin Boward slouched in front of her, a smirk on his face. “I live back there.” He pointed across the backyard of the funeral home, toward the small white house that stood behind it. “I saw you with my night-vision binoculars. What are
you
doing here?”

This was not a good situation. Being caught breaking into a funeral home by a student ranked right up there among the top five reasons to be fired. What could she say to make Justin think this wasn’t what his eyes told him it was?

He continued before she could come up with a plausible excuse. “Say, I know what you’re doing. You’re investigating Lorelei’s murder. Cool.”

His demeanor had changed from a cat who had caught the canary to something close to admiration. She tried to wiggle out of the situation. “Well, no, ah, I’m just trying this out for a book I’m writing.”

Something shuttered closed behind his eyes, and Skye could see that lying had been a mistake. She tried to ease around the boy, thinking that retreat might be the best choice.

His words stopped her. “I hate it when adults lie to me.” His face was expressionless in the flashlight’s glare. “My parents do it all the time. My dad is never straight with me about his health. And my mother would rather lock herself in the bathroom and cry than tell me what’s really bothering her.”

Skye’s counseling instincts kicked in. “That must make you feel left out.”

He nodded.

She thought she saw a tear on his cheek, but it was too dark to tell.

Justin continued in a cold voice. “That’s why at school I make it a point to know about everything. Nobody will tell you anything directly, but if you hang around and listen, you find out stuff.”

“Does that help you feel more in control?” Skye couldn’t believe she was having a therapy session at midnight outside of a funeral home.

“Yeah. Someday the other kids are going to figure out I know all their dirty little secrets, and then they’ll realize I’m one of those bad things that happen to good people.”

“I don’t think so.” Skye took a chance and contradicted Justin. “I think you’re one of the good people, not one of the ‘bad things.’ ”

Hope, doubt, and denial chased across his face. Finally, he crossed his arms, and said, “So, are we breaking in here or not? And don’t give me that crap about research for a book.”