Murder of a Sleeping Beauty (22 page)

Caresse looked horrified and asked in a breathless tone, “What did you do?”

“I did what she told me, of course.” The teen shuddered. “Can you imagine getting like Fat Frannie? She must take a size twelve, maybe even a fourteen.” Farrah patted her nonexistent hip. “I’m happy to say the Lorelei weight-loss plan put me right back into a size four.”

Caresse shook her head. “You’re satisfied with that?” She took out a mirror. “I’d just die if I got higher than a two.”

 

“I really don’t want to go to the funeral luncheon,” Skye repeated.

“Why not? You got to eat anyway, and it gives you a good excuse to psychoanalyze what people are saying,” Charlie said, leaning both hands on her desk.

Skye smiled to herself. No matter how many times she explained, Charlie never quite seemed to understand what a psychologist could and couldn’t do. He was convinced she was a cross between Houdini and Miss Marple.

She patted his hand. “You’re going anyway, so you nose around and tell me what you find out.”

“Do I look like a goddamn people person? No one’s going to tell me anything.”

Skye snorted. Yeah. Right. Like Charlie wasn’t the best manipulator in the state. “I’ve got so much work to do. I’ve got thirteen more kids to test at the elementary school, four at the middle school, and a couple here. And starting May first, I have eight annual reviews scheduled every day for the rest of the year. On top of that, there’s that crisis plan you’ve ordered me to develop.”

“If you run out of time, we’ll pay you to finish up during the summer.”

Skye paled at the threat to her summer vacation. “I’ve already agreed to work at the recreational club again this summer.”

“We’ll talk about that later,” Charlie hedged. “Right now we should get going, or we’ll miss most of the meal.”

“You go ahead. I’ll join you if I have time.”

“Skye, sweetheart, I’m saying I really would like you to come along.” A strange look crossed his face. “I’ve been having these pains.”

Skye flew around the desk and guided him to a chair. “Pains? Where? How long? I’ll call 911.”

Charlie’s blue eye’s started to twinkle. “In my butt, from people hounding me ever since you found Lorelei’s body.”

 

Skye insisted on driving her own car to the luncheon, hoping she could sneak out early and get some testing done at the grade school in the afternoon.

The Ingels were Lutheran, and since the Lutheran church had no hall, they’d been forced to make other arrangements. They had decided to have the funeral meal at the new country club, located halfway between the towns of Laurel and Scumble River.

As Skye turned into the long drive, she saw golfers on both sides. All were in carts. So much for golf as a chance to exercise. She wondered how come so many people weren’t working on a Wednesday in the middle of April. Then again, the lush, green gently rolling hills spoke of privilege and not working a nine-to-five kind of job.

She noticed several of the golfers had stopped to stare at her. What was going on? Had she forgotten to button something? Was her car on fire? Car, that explained it. A 1957 Chevrolet Bel Air at a country club probably stood out like a bikini at a church social. She fought the urge to sink below the dash and resolutely drove on.

The clubhouse was faced in cream-colored brick and sported huge floor-to-ceiling windows. Skye parked and hurried inside. To the right, the golf shop and offices ran the length of the building. The opposite wing was set up for the lunch.

The delicious scents of garlic and ginger wafted over Skye as she entered the banquet room. Against one wall was a salad bar, pasta and stir-fry station, and dessert table. Extremely unusual fare for a Scumble River funeral.

Skye wondered briefly what the Ingelses had done with all the food contributed by their neighbors and friends. Probably given it to the housekeeper.

Circular tables for eight were scattered around the room. Most people had already arrived, and many were grouped around the portable bar set up at the back of the room. Skye adjusted the sleeves of her navy blazer, made sure her white blouse was tucked in, and tugged down her skirt before joining the throng vying for a drink.

She was always a little nervous in this type of crowd and setting. It reminded her of the bittersweet time she’d spent in New Orleans, engaged to a wealthy young man, before her life collapsed and she found herself back in Scumble River.

A handsome man smiled at her as she joined the people milling around the room. “Hi, I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Troy Yates.”

For a second Skye was taken aback, but she quickly figured this man had to be the father of the Troy Yates she knew. “Hello, I’m Skye Denison. I believe I know your son. I’m the psychologist at the high school.”

“Right, right. You’ve talked to Troy Junior a couple of times since Lorelei died, right?”

“Yes.” Skye wanted to know what this guy did for a living and how he was connected to the Ingels. “He’s a nice boy. Very popular.”

A strange look crossed the senior Troy’s face. “Well, yes, in the sense that his peers like him, but he was faithful to Lorelei.”

“I’m sure he was.” Skye tucked that odd response away for later examination. “He and Lorelei must have made a striking couple.”

“Troy was devoted to Lorelei. He would have never even considered dating another girl.” A hand descended on the man’s shoulder, and he jumped.

Allen Ingels stood there with a forced smile on his lips. “Glad to hear it, Yates. Wouldn’t want to find out Junior had hurt Lorelei in any way.”

“No, of course not, Allen.” The senior Yates shook his head. “Troy would never do anything to cause Lorelei any pain.”

Except possibly make her pregnant
, thought Skye.

After Allen Ingels moved on, Skye asked Troy Senior, “Are you and the Ingelses friends? Is that how the kids got together?”

“Well, ah, yes and no. I work for Allen. I’m the bank’s manager. Lorelei and Troy met at school.” The man’s handsome face was flushed. “Excuse me. Time for a refill.”

So, both Troy and his family had a lot to lose if Lorelei’s baby turned out to be his. Skye picked up a soft drink from a passing waiter’s tray and moved to another knot of people.

“Ms. Denison, nice to see you. I wanted to thank you for all your help when Cassie was attacked by that hellion.”

Cassie? Ah, she remembered her now. This was Mrs. Wren, the mother of the third-grade girl whose hair was cut off. “You’re more than welcome. Is Cassie alright now?”

“It was a tremendous loss, but your brother did a wonderful job. Luckily she has a classically beautiful face and can wear any hairstyle.” The woman leaned closer as if to impart a secret. “We decided to go with ringlets, and I think it’s going to work. Since all the girls have long straight hair, she stands out from the crowd.”

“I’m so glad.” Skye was never sure how parents would take things. A few were grateful for her assistance, but most resented the need for it. “I can’t imagine why the other girl thought it was okay to do what she did.”

Mrs. Wren leaned even closer. “It’s the mothers. They tell the daughters it’s okay to do anything to win the title, get the part, dance the lead.” She took a sip of her martini. “I’ve seriously considered taking both Cassie and Caresse out of the competition.”

“Really?”

“Yes, but I decided against it. I mean, why make my girls quit? Unlike many of the other children, they really have talent and a good chance to make it professionally.”

“I see your point,” Skye said. Every mother thought her child was special.

“Lorna Ingels is a good example of the type of mother I was talking about.” Mrs. Wren looked around, and must have decided it was safe to go on. “Lorelei was bad enough, but she had a soft spot and would at least help out her friends. That Linette is downright scary. She’ll do anything to get ahead. And you know, at her age it’s got to be the mother behind it.”

“Is Cassie in the pageants with Linette?” Skye fought to contain her excitement. This was important information.

“No, she didn’t like beauty pageants as much as dance, and her agent didn’t think they were all that advantageous, since she was already getting commercial spots,” Mrs. Wren bragged.

“So, what has Linette done to ensure that she wins?” Skye asked, getting back to the subject that most interested her.

“Mmm.” The woman narrowed her eyes. “Well, she spies on the other girls, then tells on them.”

“That must be pretty annoying.”

“And she steals parts of their costume or makeup or equipment.”

“Why doesn’t she get kicked out for that?” asked Skye.

“No one’s caught her so far, but we know she’s behind it.” Mrs. Wren took another slug of her drink. “Once, she passed out chocolates that had Ex-Lax mixed into them. Most of the girls had to miss portions of the pageant. Some even had accidents on stage. It was awful.”

“Surely she was disqualified that time.”

“Nope. She was smart enough to eat some herself and claimed the box of candy had been an anonymous gift.” The woman leaned even closer and a wave of gin breath washed over Skye. “But I noticed that Linette didn’t eat hers until after she had competed, so she didn’t miss any of the pageant.”

“That sounds pretty devious for a ten-year-old.” Skye backed a few feet away. “How did you decide it wasn’t her mother behind the sabotage?”

“Lorna usually had an alibi for the time the incidents took place.” The woman pursed her lips. “Of course, they probably work together.” Mrs. Wren finished her drink and looked toward the bar. “I need another. Excuse me.”

Skye spotted Charlie sitting at a table with some of his cronies. She was getting hungry, so she filled a plate from the food stations and brought it over to where they were seated.

The owner of the real-estate agency was speaking. “A murder in the town’s school is not good for property values. I haven’t sold one house since the Ingels girl was killed. You need to do something, Charlie.”

Mayor Clapp joined in. “Yeah, it isn’t a good image for this town. We pride ourself on having safe schools.”

Skye decided it was time to interrupt when Charlie’s face turned redder than his suspenders. “Hi. Mind if I join you?”

The men moved over to make room for her. An extra chair was snagged from an adjacent table.

As she seated herself, Charlie said, “What’s that stuff you’re eating?”

“Mixed green salad, angel hair pasta with sun-dried tomatoes and olive oil, and a vegetable and tofu stir-fry.” Skye paused with her fork halfway to her mouth. “Want some?”

“Hell, no,” Charlie bellowed. “I didn’t climb to the top of the food chain to be a vegetarian.”

“Eating a meatless meal every once in a while does not mean you’re a vegetarian,” Skye said, exasperated. “And being a vegetarian is not a contagious disease. Consuming a portion of tofu won’t make you allergic to steak.”

Charlie frowned and got up from the table. “Very funny. I’m getting some dessert. Unless they’ve done something weird to that, too.”

 

 

 

 

I
t was close to two-thirty before Skye was able to break away from the funeral lunch. She was already on her way to the grade school when she remembered her plan to attend cheerleading practice that afternoon. Looking down at her suit, she realized she needed to go home and change, again. Making an abrupt U-turn—not an easy maneuver in a car the size of Rhode Island—she turned toward her cottage.

After putting on black sweatpants and an orange University of Illinois T-shirt, Skye fed Bingo and headed to school. The dismissal bell was ringing when she arrived, which meant she had a few minutes before she needed to meet Trixie.

The main office was crowded and noisy with teachers and students getting ready to go home. Skye emptied her mailbox and ducked into the empty health room to skim her messages. Most were from parents or staff, and nothing was marked urgent. She’d return the calls tomorrow.

One slip of yellow paper caught her eye. It was from Thea, the daytime police dispatcher. What could she want?

Skye reached for the phone. “Thea? Hi, it’s Skye.”

“I can’t talk now. Call me back in ten minutes.”

“Thea, what’s going on?” Skye figured her mom had found out some important information on the murder and wanted Thea to tell her about it ASAP.

“Call me back,” Thea repeated.

“Okay. Look, Thea, sorry I can’t call back then, because I’ll be coaching the cheerleaders.” Skye spoke quickly, sure Thea was about to hang up. “Tell Mom I’ll stop by after practice.”

“No—” Thea started to speak. “Sorry, got to go. Bye.”

That had been weird. Skye chewed on her lower lip. What was up with Thea? She’d stop by the station after practice and find out. Right now it was time to learn some new cheers.

She found Trixie and her merry band of cheerleaders in the girl’s locker room. “Hi.”

“Hi, we’ll be out in a minute. The girls are just changing.” Trixie was dressed in a plain white leotard and sweatpants. “Let’s wait in the gym. The process takes a while.”

The two women settled themselves on a bleacher.

Skye asked, “How’s Owen doing?”

The question about her husband brought a scowl to Trixie’s face. “How would I know? It’s spring. He’s getting the machinery and fields ready for planting. He’s up before dawn and doesn’t drag his butt home until after dark. The only way I know he’s still living in the house is that the dishes of food I leave in the oven are empty when I come back.”

“Yeah, it’s a tough time of year. Dad and my uncles are the same way.”

“I’m beginning to think there isn’t a good time of year for farmers. Owen was always a hard worker, but now that we—and the bank—own the land, he’s obsessive.” Trixie popped off the bench.