Murder of a Sleeping Beauty (23 page)

“He’ll be better in a month or so,” Skye said, following her.

“I doubt it. Hey, did you hear this joke? How many men does it take to screw in a lightbulb? One. He just holds it up there and waits for the world to revolve around him.” Trixie stuck her head in the locker room. “Five-minute warning.”

Skye was still snickering as the cheerleading squad filed out. They wore warm-up suits of silver and black, and carried matching pom-poms. The back of each jacket was embroidered with a black widow spider.

Skye stiffened. The pom-poms. It wasn’t a piece of tinsel that Wally had found on the gym floor. It was a strand from a pom-pom. Had it been there from the last cheerleaders’ practice? Or had it been clinging to the clothes of the killer?

Trixie’s voice interrupted Skye’s thoughts. “Most of you know Ms. Denison, the school psychologist. She’s going to help me out today.”

The nine girls started talking.

“Quiet.” Trixie continued, “I’ll take the junior varsity and Ms. Denison will take the senior squad.”

Skye grabbed Trixie’s arm and whispered fiercely in her ear, “I don’t know what to do.”

Sotto voce, Trixie said, “Just have them run through their routines.”

“I don’t know their routines. I was never a cheerleader.”

Trixie shrugged. “Have them do cheers one, five, seven, and ten. Watch their timing, their smiles, their voice levels. Just have them do it again and again until it looks perfect.”

Skye took the scrunchie from her wrist and put her hair into a ponytail. She was already starting to sweat.

Her squad, which consisted of Zoë, Caresse, Farrah, and a raven-haired girl she didn’t know, had gathered at the end of the gym nearest the stage. They were doing stretches and talking.

Skye sat on the steps to the stage and listened. Zoë was saying to the unknown teen, “Boy, Tara, you’ve really missed it. Why didn’t you go to the funeral today?”

Tara answered, “Hey, I just got back into town at noon. I only came to school at all so I could come to practice.”

Farrah joined them. “How was California?”

“Wonderful.”

“I can’t believe your parents let you take two weeks off of school to go on vacation with them,” Caresse interjected.

“They don’t like going during the regular spring break. Too many college kids, and the prices are all doubled,” Tara said, then lowered her voice. “Plus, Dad had a job interview, but no one is supposed to know. He doesn’t like the way things are going at the bank.”

Skye perked up. Something funny at the bank. Could Charlie be right about Allen Ingels being involved in something fishy?

Caresse, obviously not interested in something as mundane as jobs, asked, “Did you meet any movie stars?”

Skye got up from her perch. If the teens wouldn’t talk about anything interesting, they’d have to practice. “Okay, girls, please take your positions for cheer number one.”

“Aren’t we going to elect a new captain?” Caresse asked.

“I’ll ask Mrs. Frayne about that later,” Skye answered.

Zoë put her hands on her hips. “I should be the captain. I got the most votes after Lorelei.”

“I’m sure Mrs. Frayne will do what’s fair.”

Zoë shot Skye a poisonous look. They practiced for half an hour, then took a break. The girls dug out water bottles and towels from their tote bags. Trixie and Skye sat on the bleachers and supervised.

Skye explained to Trixie Zoë’s concern over who would be captain. Trixie answered, “We need to hold tryouts for two new members of the squad anyway, and I’m not electing a new captain until we have a full team.”

“Zoë seems certain she’ll be it.” Skye kept one ear tuned to the girls, but they were discussing prom dresses, not Lorelei.

“She may. Most of these girls are fairly impressed by the superficial.”

“Well, to be fair, most teens are. It’s one of those lessons they have to learn before becoming grown-ups.” Skye paused. “What worries me after meeting their moms is that they don’t have good role models at home.”

“Are you going to the pageant Saturday?” Trixie asked, bringing up a tangential subject.

“I want to, but I haven’t thought of a good reason to be there.”

“No more convenient cousins, huh?” Trixie teased.

“No. None of my relatives have girls entered in the Miss Central Illinois contest. I asked Gillian if she thought I could get away with just hanging around backstage on my own, and she said the security guards would throw me out.”

“Sounds like you’ll have to just go sit in the audience.”

“I suppose. You want to come along?”

“Love to, but my in-laws are spending the weekend.”

“Maybe Mom’s not working,” Skye said. “She’d probably enjoy going.”

Trixie unfolded herself from the bleachers and stood. “Okay, girls, let’s give it another half hour.”

Skye moved off to watch her squad.

After the girls finished and returned to the locker room to change, Trixie said to Skye, “Now’s the time to eavesdrop. All that physical activity really gets them going.”

“I hate to go in there while they’re showering and dressing. That was one of my major gripes about PE—being watched by a fully dressed adult while I was naked.” Skye shuddered. “I swear Miss Lake was a ghoul or something. She was so grotesque.”

“Oh, I remember her,” Trixie replied. “That was one of the good things about moving. My new PE teacher sat in her office and monitored us by how loud we got.” Trixie grinned. “It was the quietest locker room I’ve ever been in.” She paused for effect. “Which is how I discovered if you sit by the vent in the PE office, you can hear just about everything that’s said in the locker room.”

“Cool.” Skye headed in that direction. “Do the girls know?”

“No.”

Skye settled into the office chair she had positioned next to the vent and listened, resolving to forget immediately anything she heard that wasn’t relevant to Lorelei’s death.

At first the girls chatted about clothes, makeup, and music, but finally Skye heard: “I can’t believe none of the adults have caught on that Lorelei was sleeping with a teacher.”

“You mean . . . ?” This voice was too low for Skye to hear the rest of what was said.

“No, she means . . .” a different girl whispered, and Skye missed who they were talking about.

The shower came on and Skye couldn’t hear anymore. She was half out of the chair, trying to get closer to the vent, when the door slammed open. The glass rattled as the frame banged into the wall. Skye’s heart skipped a beat, and her breath caught in her lungs. Her eyes widened as Wally strode into the office, a pained expression on his face. He spoke without inflection. “Get up.”

She rose as if in a trance. The pulse in her neck felt as if it were beating at ten times the normal rate. “Wha—?”

He gently swung her around and cuffed her before she could complete the word. Then he spoke the dreaded words, “Skye Denison, you’re under arrest for theft. You have the right to remain silent.”

Part of her listened to Wally recite the rights that were familiar to anyone who watched TV cop shows, while the other part noticed that Trixie had rounded up the girls and was leading them more than a gossip’s length away.

“Wally, are you crazy? How can you do this to me? What’s going on?” Skye protested.

The chief ignored her questions, marching her out the side door and into the back of his squad car. She wondered how many people were watching and felt her chest tightening. This was humiliating. He buckled her into the seat belt and got into the front seat. She leaned as far forward as she could and tried again to ask what was going on.

He cut her off. “We’ll talk at the station.”

What had she done? The short ride was excruciating. What was happening? Her emotions ranged from outrage to fear, and back again.

Wally parked the squad car in the police garage and after unbuckling the seat belt, eased her from the vehicle. He remained silent. Sheer black fright swept her as he marched her through the station.

He grunted to the dispatcher as they passed by. “Call the county jail for a matron.”

He deposited her in the coffee/interrogation room and locked the door behind him. Icy fear twisted around her heart. She had never seen Wally this way. And to drag her out of school in handcuffs—this was bad, this was very bad. Skye tried to retrieve the anger she had initially felt over her treatment, but she was too scared.

Then it dawned on her. The dispatcher was some woman she didn’t know. Where was her mother? She was supposed to be working. Why had they gotten rid of May? That frightened her most of all.

Finally, she forced herself to focus. What did they think she’d done? Theft. What had been stolen? Should she call a lawyer?

After what felt to Skye like the longest wait in her life, Wally walked back into the room. He motioned for her to stand, and directing her with a hand on her upper arm, led her up the stairs and into his office. The decor had not improved since her last visit. It was still drab with faded blue linoleum, a metal desk, and vinyl-covered chairs. The smell of stale tobacco was finally fading, but even after several years of a smokeless occupant, traces lingered. A silent matron sat in a corner with a notepad.

Wally and Skye both settled into chairs. By this point, Skye was beginning to feel numb.

The chief flipped open a file and said, “A theft was reported this afternoon.”

“And you’re accusing me?”

“That’s right. You’re my primary suspect.” Wally spoke like a machine, and he looked as if he had a migraine.

“This is ridiculous,” sputtered Skye.

“It’s a serious crime.”

“Oh, my God.” Skye was beginning to feel nauseous. “I’d better call my attorney.”

The chief nodded. “That might be a good idea. But if you do, we have to sit here until she arrives. In fact, you could end up in jail, waiting to hear about bonds and things like that once you get a lawyer involved.”

Could he really do that? Skye felt a shiver of panic run up her back. “But I haven’t done anything!” She fought to calm down. “Why do you suspect me?”

“Because the stolen object is something others would have limited interest in.”

She searched anxiously for the meaning behind his words. “What was stolen? What would only I be interested in?”

“Your innocent act is really good,” Wally said disdainfully. “You know what was taken.”

“No, no I don’t,” Skye replied in a small, frightened voice. “What was it?”

“A copy of Lorelei Ingels’s tox report was stolen from the coroner’s mail today.” The chief’s lip curled. “Simon Reid returned to the funeral home after Lorelei Ingels’s services at approximately twelve-thirty. He retrieved his mail from the box at that time and glanced through the pile, noting it contained an envelope from the forensics lab. He put the mail on his desk and went about his business. At approximately two o’clock he went to get the envelope. It was gone. After questioning his assistant and calling the lab, he phoned me.”

Skye wondered if Simon had mentioned her midnight adventure at his funeral home and decided she’d better act as if he hadn’t. “That’s it? You’re accusing me of this crime just because I had motive? Others have motive, too, you know. Lorelei’s killer for instance.”

Wally’s sighed. “We do have other evidence.”

Skye felt a flicker of apprehension. “What?”

“A witness driving by saw a female of your general build, with brown wavy hair, coming out of the funeral home at close to one o’clock this afternoon.”

“What do you mean, my ‘general build’?”

Wally’s eyes dropped. “Not thin.”

“Fat.”

“That wasn’t what the woman said.” Wally didn’t look up.

This seemed to embarrass him, but she wasn’t about to let the matter pass. “What exactly did she say?”

“She said she saw a big girl coming out of the funeral home.”

“She used the word ‘girl’?”

He consulted his notes. “Yeah, but the lady was about ninety. Anyone under sixty would be a girl to her.”

“I see. And she said brown hair?” Skye asked.

The chief nodded.

“Well, I can see you have never really looked at me. I have chestnut-colored hair.”

“Look, try to wiggle out of this any way you can, but the description fits you.” Wally crossed his arms.

Skye straightened her spine and assumed a dignified pose. “Perhaps, but you said the report was stolen between twelve-thirty and two o’clock. Probably closest to one o’clock.”

“Yes.”

“I have an alibi for those times.” Skye took her first deep breath since he’d accused her of the crime. “I was at the Thistle Creek Country Club for Lorelei’s funeral lunch. Several parents spoke to me, as did Charlie.”

Diverse emotions battled for prominence on the chief’s face—relief among them. “Give me those names.”

After she listed everyone she could remember speaking to, Wally said to the matron, “Escort her to the coffee room. Do not let her talk to anyone, including yourself.”

Skye’s relief was so great she felt a silly hysteria creeping over her. If her hands hadn’t still been cuffed, she would’ve saluted Wally. “Yes, sir.”

In the other room she sat staring at the coffeemaker and the soda-pop machine.
Who did steal that report?
She prayed it wasn’t Justin. If he did it, she was morally to blame. But if the witness was right, it couldn’t have been the boy. Who else would want the tox report—aside from the murderer, that is?

The dispatcher’s voice penetrated Skye’s thoughts. “The chief says to take the cuffs off of her and bring her back upstairs.”

Wally was slouched back in his chair, looking relaxed, when she entered his domain. He spoke to the matron. “Thanks for your help. You can go now.”

Skye fought to keep her voice normal. “So, do my alibis check out?” She wasn’t sure if he was in a better mood because he had cleared her or because he had found more reason to think she was guilty.