Murder of the Cat's Meow: A Scumble River Mystery (10 page)

“Hmm.” Wally clicked his pen and made a note, then asked, “After the initial altercation in which he assaulted Alexis, did you witness any other incidents between them?”

“No.” Skye reran yesterday’s events in her mind. “I never saw them together again, and the few times I ran into Elijah he seemed fine.” She closed her eyes, trying to remember. There had been something unusual she’d noticed about the ex-doc’s behavior, but what was it?
Shoot!
Nope, she couldn’t dredge it up to the surface.

Wally interrupted her concentration. “Can you think of anything more about him? Anything that might explain his weird behavior?”

“While Frannie and I were doing the dishes after the dinner last night, she said that Elijah told her that twenty years ago, he was an extremely successful surgeon, but he was in an auto accident that resulted in his fiancée’s death and in which he suffered a traumatic head injury. It ended his career.”

“Why’s that?” Wally looked up; he’d been taking down all Skye said. “Did it mess up his fine-motor skills or vision or what?”

“I didn’t notice any of those concerns.” Skye shook her head. “But significant brain trauma can impair cognitive functioning.”

“In what way?”

“Memory, reasoning, problem solving, speed of mental processing, concentration, organizational ability, decision making, judgment.” She shrugged. “Pretty much every skill needed to be a good doctor can be compromised.”

“Could a head injury cause behavioral issues?” Wally gazed intently at Skye.

“Definitely.” She nodded vigorously. “It’s very common to see difficulties in socializing, and with self-control, mood swings, irritability, dangerous actions, and physical outbursts.”

Wally narrowed his eyes. “Like attacking someone and killing them?”

“In the heat of the moment, yes,” Skye agreed. “But I can’t see how someone with Elijah’s disabilities could have planned a murder that involved luring someone to a place that person wouldn’t normally go, then having the forethought to bring a weapon—since it certainly wasn’t in the utility closet to begin with. And how did he get away without anyone noticing him?”

“It could have been just one of those perfect storm kinds of situations,” Wally argued. “The vic could have forgotten something in the basement—you did say the room she’d been judging in was down there.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Maybe Jacobsen was still ticked at her from that morning, so he followed her to demand an apology,” Wally continued. “She said something to set him off, and he just happened to have the wire cat toy in his pocket.”

“Shoot!” Skye bit her lip. “That’s a plausible scenario, but having that cat toy in his pocket would have been really awkward since the handle was so long. And something just doesn’t feel right to me about Elijah being the murderer.”

“Because you liked the guy and felt sorry for him?” Wally suggested.

“Maybe,” Skye admitted. “But how about all the other people who disliked Alexis?”

“None of them ran away to cleanse their souls,” Wally pointed out.

“How do you know?” Skye asked. “Just because they showed up for the final judging and awards ceremony doesn’t mean they’re still around.” Her voice rose excitedly as an idea popped into her head. “They might have thought that the body wouldn’t have been found yet and reasoned that it would look funny if they didn’t attend the brunch.”

“That’s true.” Wally stood. “And I never intended to stop the investigation, but like it or not, Jacobsen is our prime suspect.”

“I understand.” Skye watched Wally step from behind his desk. “What’s next?”

“Three of my full-timer officers aren’t around—one’s on vacation, one’s sick, and one had a death in the family—so that leaves Quirk, Martinez, Zuchowski and the two part-timers.” Wally pulled the other visitor’s chair closer to Skye and took her hand. “Quirk called all of them in, and, as we speak, they’re phoning the list of participants that Bunny provided to see who has an alibi.”

“Good.” Skye smiled in relief. “If Elijah killed Alexis, I want him brought to justice. However, I don’t want the fact that he’s peculiar to convince you it’s him before he’s had a fair trial.” She leaned forward and kissed Wally. “But I know you’d never do that.”

“Thanks, darlin’.” Wally scooped her into his lap and stole another kiss.

“Anytime.”

“Now, I need to give my officers your list of possible suspects, so they can make locating those individuals their priority.” Wally nudged Skye to her feet, then stood up. “Any of them who don’t have alibis that check out, we’ll interview in person.”

Skye started toward the door, paused, and said, “I know Quirk is aware of the vendors.” She explained about Zelda’s cousin. “But did Bunny include their names on the list she gave him?”

“I don’t know.” Wally put a hand on the small of her back and guided her out of the office. “I’ll have him check that out.”

“Good.” Skye started down the stairs. “Because it just occurred to me that Kyle O’Brien, the photographer who was supposed to meet me this morning to take pictures of Bingo, never did show up.”

“Hmm.” Wally led the way toward the cubicles the officers were using. “I’ll be interested in hearing his excuse.”

“Me, too.” Skye trailed him down the narrow hallway. “And the three other vendors all had a beef with Alexis—they’re among the names we gave you. But to be fair, two of them are tiny eighty-year-old twins who I doubt would have the strength to strangle someone as tall and strong as Alexis.”

“You’d be surprised what someone intent on murder is capable of doing,” Wally commented, then turned his attention to briefing the officers manning the phones regarding the top persons of interest on their calling list. Once he was finished, Wally turned to Skye and said, “You might as well go home. Who knows how long I’ll be here, but there’s nothing more you can do tonight.”

“If you’re sure…” Skye trailed off. She hated to leave
if she could help, but she was bone-tired and tomorrow was a school day.

“I’m positive.” He took her hand and tugged her toward the exit. “Can you come in after work tomorrow and help with the witness interviews?”

“Absolutely.” Skye allowed herself to be led outside and walked to her car. “I don’t have any after-hours meetings scheduled, so I should be able to make it here no later than four.”

“That’ll be perfect.” Wally opened the Bel Air’s door. “Right now, I’ll go find Frannie, Justin, and Bunny.” Once Skye was seated, he leaned in and kissed her good-bye. “I need to talk to the three musketeers in order to get a better picture of the weekend’s activities.”

“Good luck with that.” Skye waved, slammed the door, and drove off. She didn’t envy Wally’s trying to make sense of all that had gone on during the cat show/speed dating/bowler disco party.

After placing a reassuring call to her mother—she knew May would have heard about the murder the minute she got back from her gambling weekend—Skye spent the evening worrying about Elijah and fussing over Bingo. The cat still stared at her suspiciously every time she approached him. She half expected Wally to call or drop over, but when he hadn’t done either by ten o’clock, she gave up and went to bed.

Monday morning should have been the first day of spring break, which the Scumble River School District usually took during the last week of March. However, this year a February flu epidemic had shut down the district for ten days. So, in order to avoid extending attendance into the middle of June when the weather might be too hot—two of the three buildings were not air-conditioned—the board had canceled the vacation, and classes were in session.

Skye feared the students’ attitudes would be ugly, and the faculty’s dispositions might be worse. What could she do to lighten everyone’s mood?

As she parked and walked into the high school, Skye was pleased that the weather had improved and the temperatures were even warmer than yesterday. She wondered if she could persuade Homer Knapik, the principal, to allow her to do something special for everyone during the lunch period.

Maybe she could decorate the cafeteria with some of the props left over from the school’s performance of
South Pacific
, have the lunch ladies make nonalcoholic piña coladas for everyone, and hold a hula contest.

Unfortunately, as soon as Skye walked in the door, she saw Homer in his attack position by the teachers’ mailboxes, and an alarm went off in her head. Clearly, palm trees and leis were not in her future. Maybe erupting volcanoes, but not a luau.

Classes started at seven fifty, and teachers were required to be in the building half an hour earlier, but Homer hardly ever arrived before eight. The fact that he was not only present but also out of his office did not bode well for anyone, especially Skye.

Before she could figure out a way to sneak past the hovering principal, he saw her and yelled across the lobby, “Get your butt over here.” He turned, not bothering to see if Skye heard him. “You won’t believe what our little darlings did over the weekend.”

Skye followed him down the narrow hall that led from the front counter to his office. Part of her was relieved that the principal’s fury wasn’t caused by her discovery of yet another murder victim. He hated her involvement in criminal investigations, and loved to remind her that she seemed to be a magnet for dead bodies.

She hid a smile as she entered Homer’s lair. Good thing he didn’t know about Mrs. Griggs’s ghost—a truly
dead body that actually did seem to be drawn to Skye—or he’d really be upset. She had barely cleared the threshold when Homer slammed the door. Ignoring her, he marched over to the coffee machine on the credenza beneath the window and poured himself a cup. The big leather swivel chair behind his desk groaned in protest when he flopped into its seat.

Skye studied the principal as he cradled his mug in one large hand, blowing on the dark liquid before taking a cautious sip. He looked like a manatee wearing a fur coat. Hair protruded from his ears, nose, and above his loosened tie. She grimaced when he idly stroked the tuft of fur sticking out between the gaping buttons of his shirt. For as long as she’d known him, Homer had needed a wax job in the worst way.

After taking several gulps of coffee, he acknowledged Skye and grunted, “Are you waiting for a royal invitation? Have a seat, for crying out loud, before I get a crick in my neck.”

Skye complied, then dug out a pen and legal pad from her tote. She sat at attention, waiting for further instructions. Homer hated to be rushed, and he didn’t encourage initiative in his employees.

“Care to take a guess what a dozen or so of our senior girls decided to do for fun?” Homer tapped a folder on his desk. “You know, those dumbasses you keep insisting are America’s future.”

Skye was silent. She refused to answer him when he belittled the students. And even though Homer was one of the rare individuals who responded neither to positive nor to negative reinforcement, she hadn’t given up trying to get him to be more respectful.

Her lack of response seemed to irritate him and he barked, “Are you deaf?”

She raised an eyebrow, but still didn’t speak. Minutes
ticked by and she bit her tongue, resisting the urge to fill the empty air.

“Fine.” Homer’s face had turned a mottled red and he blew out a raspberry. “I suppose I’ll have to tell you, since you obviously have no idea what your precious students are up to. What’s the matter? Aren’t they talking to you anymore? Have you lost your coolness?”

Skye squirmed. Homer had homed in on her weakness like Winnie the Pooh on a honeycomb. For some reason she hadn’t been able to get as close to this year’s group of kids. Even the ones on the school newspaper didn’t confide in her as they had in the past.

“While you were busy playing Nancy Drew—” Homer pointed a hairy finger at her, and when she flinched, he nodded. “Yes, I heard you discovered yet another stiff, but I’m not even going there.”

“Thank goodness,” Skye muttered under her breath, then asked aloud, “So, what happened?” She supposed someone had gotten drunk and stupid.

“Bitsy Kessler had a slumber party, or whatever in the hell they call them nowadays.” Homer pushed the file he’d been toying with across his desktop to Skye, then leaned back and stared at her.

“And?” she asked, flipping the folder open and seeing a single sheet of paper containing a list of names, most of which she recognized as belonging to the popular crowd or to girls who were on the fringes.

“
And
sometime during the night,” Homer’s two oversize front teeth gnawed on his bottom lip, “they decide to play a game.”

“Strip Poker? Truth or Dare?” Skye had a sinking feel that none of the pastimes she could name had been the one the girls had chosen.

“I wish.” Homer shook his head from side to side like a mournful bull.

“Just tell me, for heaven’s sake,” Skye pleaded, unable to stand the suspense.

“Some tomfool thing called Pass Out. I thought it was a drinking game, but Mrs. Kessler explained to me, in detail, that it isn’t.”

“That’s a self-strangulation game!” Skye’s voice rose in alarm. “I remember reading about it in one of the psych journals. Kids have died from playing it.”

Homer folded his hands across his paunch. “Who thinks up this crazy shit?”

Skye didn’t have an answer, but she had a question of her own. “Are the girls all right?”

“Yeah.” Homer glowered. “Mrs. Kessler caught them before it went too far.”

“Thank God.” Skye sank back against her chair, her heart still racing. “That poor woman. Bitsy is her oldest child.”

“Yeah.” Homer twitched his shoulders. “A lot of times the first pancake turns out the worst.”

“Seriously?” Skye rolled her eyes. Where did Homer come up with sayings like that?

“What I want to know,” Homer said, gazing at the ceiling as if seeking an answer from the cracked plaster, “is why in blue blazes would anyone want to strangle themselves? Are they suicidal?”

“Hmm.” Skye paused to gather her thoughts.

“Come on,” Homer prodded. “You’re the expert. Are they trying to off themselves or what?”

“According to what I’ve read, depriving yourself of oxygen induces a kind of euphoric sensation.” Skye might have been flattered that Homer thought of her as an authority, but she knew that his definition of an expert was the person who was the least ignorant about the subject. “This game is nothing new, but cell phones and online videos are spreading it.”