Murder of a Sleeping Beauty (18 page)

“No,
we
are not breaking in.
We
’re going home.” Skye realized it was time to call a halt to the whole idea.

Justin bent down and picked up the celluloid she had dropped. “Then you don’t need this.”

“Neither do you. Give it here.” She held out her hand.

He turned his back on her and inserted it into the door near the bolt. “This is how you open one of these types of locks.”

At the same time that the latched clicked and the door swung open, she heard another sound—footsteps crossing the street. Skye immediately switched off the flashlight and pushed Justin inside. She followed, quietly closing the door behind her. Unable to see in the utter darkness, she put her lips to what she hoped was the boy’s ear, and whispered, “Hide. Someone’s coming.”

She counted her blessings that at least Justin was one of the smartest kids she had in therapy. Without a word he silently faded away. Obviously his night vision was superior to hers.

Skye put up her hands to feel her way, trying to visualize where she was from previous visits to the funeral home. She thought she was in a tiny back hall and that Simon’s office was the first door to her right. She felt an opening at the same time she heard a key rattle. She slipped quickly inside the room, closed the door, and pushed the button to lock it.

She knew immediately that this was not Simon’s office. She must have gotten turned around, but it was too late to leave now. A light went on in the hall, and she heard footsteps pass the room she was hiding in.

Something wasn’t right. Where was she? There were only two choices, and neither one was a winner. She was either in the room where they prepared the bodies or she was . . . Her hand encountered cold metal, then smooth satin.
Oh, shit. I’m in the casket-display room.
Her heart started to beat rapidly. Swallowing a scream, she forced herself to think rationally.
There’s nothing in here that can hurt me.
She eased herself to a sitting position on the floor and tried to calm herself.
Just because it’s midnight, and I’m locked in a room with a bunch of coffins does not mean that Dracula is out there sharpening his fangs.

She had never liked scary movies, but her Uncle Dante had loved them. Every Saturday night her parents would drop her and her brother off for Dante and Olive to baby-sit. And every week he would force them to watch
Creature Features
: two horror movies back-to-back, ending at midnight. Vince tried to help calm her fears, sitting next to her and holding her hand, but it was never enough. Because when she went to bed she was alone, and that’s when all the monsters came out to get her.

At a conscious level, she knew it was ridiculous for a grown woman to be frightened of vampires and werewolves, but down deep inside she was still the eight-year-old girl who had been terrified by those TV images. Skye still had occasional bad dreams starring the cast from those flicks.

She had to get her mind off where she was or she’d go crazy. Concentrating, she thought of Justin and said a prayer that he was okay, that he had managed to slip back outside and was at home this very minute. She’d never forgive herself if something happened to that boy because of her stupidity.

Skye stiffened. Someone was jiggling the door and cursing. She heard a key chain being taken from a pocket. She stood up. What was she going to do? The door would open any minute. The key was shoved into the lock. Before she could talk herself out of it, and as quietly as possible, she climbed into the nearest casket and eased down the lid.

I’m definitely going to scream or throw up. Maybe both.
She tried to lie still and silent, but she could almost feel hot breath on her neck. No way would she be able to handle being closed in for long.

The situation reminded her of when she was six, and her cousin Hugo locked her in her grandmother’s hope chest. They had been playing hide-and-seek, and instead of finding her, he had turned the key and left her. She had screamed and screamed, but the chest was in the closet and no one heard her. Luckily, Vince missed her and forced Hugo to tell what he had done.

I’m going to faint.
Skye tried to quiet her breathing. Bad move; now she could hear every rustle of the satin and every creak of the metal. Was that something gnawing on her ankle?

She couldn’t hear anything. How would she know when it was safe to come out? Or worse yet, what if the lid wouldn’t open? Skye felt the hysteria building and couldn’t control it. When they finally found her in this thing, she’d be either stark raving mad or dead.

Without warning, the top was flung open, and light flooded in, blinding her. She shrieked, thinking for a moment that some chainsaw-wielding maniac was after her.

She vaguely heard a shout, “What in blazes?” before she lost what little control she possessed.

Screaming, she fought the arms that reached for her. Despite her struggle, she felt herself being lifted from the casket.

A familiar, soothing voice said, “Skye, it’s Simon. You’re okay, sweetheart. You’re fine.” He patted her back and smoothed her hair until she calmed down. He handed her his handkerchief and waited for her to wipe her eyes and blow her nose.

Skye took a deep breath and focused on the gentle concern radiating from Simon’s features. “Sorry,” she hiccuped. “I don’t know what came over me.” She reached up and stroked his cheek. “I was convinced you were Norman Bates. Isn’t that stupid?”

Instead of the response she hoped for, the mask she had grown to recognize descended, and Simon said, “What in the hell are you doing inside a casket, inside my funeral home, at midnight?”

“Would you believe a scavenger hunt?” Her voice was shaky.

His expression darkened. “You have two minutes to tell me the truth, or I’m calling the police. Even your precious Wally would have trouble finding a reason not to arrest you this time.”

What could she say? “Well, um, I couldn’t sleep.”

“So you thought a casket would be more comfortable than your bed?”

“No, don’t be silly.”

His eyebrows shot into his hairline, and Simon said through closed teeth, “That’s not the attitude I’d take right now if I were you.”

Skye quickly tried another tack. “I’ve been missing you.”

“And you got confused between my house and the funeral home?” Simon’s tone remained unamused.

“No.” Skye tried to refocus his attention. “What are
you
doing prowling around here at midnight?”

“I own the place.”

“True. I didn’t say you didn’t have a right to be here. I just asked why?”

“You’d ask the Pope whether he were celibate after he heard your confession for murder, wouldn’t you?” Simon allowed a fleeting look of admiration to cross his face.

“Maybe. If I had a good reason. So, why are you here?”

“Because I left the book I was reading in my office, and when I couldn’t sleep, I decided to come get it. As I crossed the street, I saw a light bobbing around the back door. I’ve had trouble with kids and vandalism before, so I decided to investigate. Then I heard something thumping in the casket-display room. And you know, the sad thing is, I wasn’t even that surprised when I opened the lid and saw you.” He raised a brow. “Satisfied?”

“Yes.” Skye edged toward the door. “Sorry about all this. I was in the neighborhood and—”

He cut her off with a snarl. “Just tell me the truth for once.”

“Okay. Fine.” Skye had run out of both excuses and patience. “I wanted to see Lorelei Ingels’s autopsy. Wally is being stupid about the whole thing, and I knew you’d never let me look at it.”

“This is Wally’s and my fault?” His voice rose.

“In a sense, yes.” Her fear had been replaced with exasperation. “If you men would just cooperate. It’s not like I haven’t helped the police out before. Without me, they would never have figured out who killed Honey Adair or my grandmother.”

“So, now you want me to make a copy of the autopsy and send you on your way, so you can solve this crime for us, too?” A pulse became visible in Simon’s temple.

“That would be a step in the right direction.” How far could she take this before he exploded?

“Get out of here before I lose my temper, as well as my mind. I’m not calling the police, only out of respect for your family.” Simon took her arm and led her to the door. “If I ever catch you doing something like this again, I will press charges.”

He thrust her outside, but didn’t release her. “One more thing. How did you learn to pick locks?”

Skye forced a carefree smile, not willing to let Simon know how bad she really felt. “Hey, if I waited to get keys to the rooms at school, I’d never get anything done.”

Simon made a growling noise deep in his throat, stepped back inside, and closed the door in her face.

Skye took a shaky breath. Now, if only Justin were okay. She didn’t dare try and get back inside, and there were no windows to peer into. Her only choice was to see if he had made it home.

She walked toward the house he had pointed out earlier. What should she do? She couldn’t exactly ring the bell and ask for him.

As she approached what she hoped was his window, she heard, “Psst, over here.”

Skye turned around. The only thing she could see in the pitch-black backyard was a tree house.

Justin’s face appeared in the doorway. “Up here, Ms. D.”

“Come down,” she half whispered.

He grinned. “No, you come up. My parents might hear us down there.”

“As long as you’re okay. I’ve got to get going anyhow.” Skye turned. “I’ll see you at school tomorrow.”

“Ms. Denison.”

She turned back. “What?”

“I think you might want to see this right away.” He held up a sheaf of papers.

“What’s that?”

“Lorelei’s autopsy. I copied it while you and Mr. Reid were yelling at each other.”

She sighed. She was way too old to be climbing trees.

 

 

 

 

L
orelei had been pregnant. Not even two months along, but definitely with child. So that was the big secret. Skye could see how the police would want to keep that quiet. It pointed the finger at a whole slew of new suspects. Troy Yates, the boyfriend, jumped right to the top of the list. And maybe her pregnancy explained why her parents were so against the autopsy.

The document contained nothing else of interest. Lorelei had been a healthy eighteen-year-old. No cause of death was listed. The medical examiner was waiting for the results of the toxicology tests.

Skye suspected that Justin was lying when he claimed he hadn’t had time to read the report. He had handed it over too easily. He’d either read the packet of papers or made another copy. But that was an issue she’d have to deal with another time.

It was after two by the time Skye got to bed. When her alarm rang at six o’clock, she hit the snooze button. She kept hitting it until seven, when Bingo added his vocal displeasure to the cacophony, and she swung her legs over the side of the bed. Another day without her morning swim. This had to stop. She needed to get back into her routine.

She was supposed to be at school by seven-thirty. No way could she call in sick. First of all, there was too much to do as the school year neared its end. Most importantly, today was PPS at the junior high. No one missed the Pupil Personal Services meeting without a really good excuse—like death. If you weren’t in attendance, you were the one assigned all the crappy duties.

Too tired to care what she looked like, Skye pulled on the first thing she grabbed from her closet—a knit pantsuit that, although extremely comfortable, bagged at the knees after a few hours of wear. She swept her hair back with a long clip, shoved her feet into flats, and ran out the door.

She was five minutes late arriving at the junior high school, and the principal, Neva Llewellyn, commented as she handed Skye a stack of message slips. “Looks like you had a hard night.”

Neva and Skye were on friendly terms, but the principal was a perfectionist and expected everyone else to be flawless also. Tardiness was one of her pet peeves.

Skye skidded to a halt. “Sorry.” She never was a morning person, and less than eight hours of sleep made her cranky. Less than five hours made her downright crabby. “Bad morning.” She had to be careful or she’d say something snippy she’d regret later. “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting.”

Neva raised an eyebrow. “Do you have appointments this morning before PPS?”

“I’ve got kids lined up to test. I need to get the reevaluations finished so I can get started on annual reviews.”

“Go get settled, but before you start, come talk to me,” Neva ordered.

Skye tucked her purse in her desk, prepared the room and materials for the first child she would evaluate, then sat down and leafed through her messages. One from Charlie stated the wake for Lorelei Ingels was being held that afternoon and evening. He wanted her to be there in case a student needed her help, and also to continue her investigation. The funeral would take place the next morning. Charlie again suggested that her presence was required.

A note from Homer said almost the same thing, although no snooping was mentioned.

After giving Ursula Nelson, the junior-high secretary, a pass for the student she wanted to test when the first bell rang, Skye knocked on the principal’s door.

Neva had redecorated when she took over from the last occupant, and the office had gone from utilitarian to tasteful. Skye seated herself in a Queen Anne chair and faced Neva across a gleaming wooden desk, breathing in the pleasant odor of vanilla that wafted through the air from a small bowl of potpourri tucked away on a butterfly table next to the ivory wall.