Murder of the Cat's Meow: A Scumble River Mystery (22 page)

So far, so good. Skye pulled the legal pad toward her and wrote:

She had everything but the sage and the salt. The latter could probably be purchased at the grocery store, but where was she going to get sage branches? She was pretty sure they didn’t grow on trees.

The grade school’s Pupil Personnel Services meetings were always scheduled for Thursdays at seven thirty a.m. The first item on the agenda was yesterday’s situation with Alvin and Duncan. Caroline reported that both students had responded well to Skye’s suggestions. Their mothers had assured the principal that the boys would be back in the classroom that morning.

Once again, Skye had to cut her time at the elementary school short because she had promised Neva that she would deliver Junior Doozier’s assignments that morning. However, when she arrived at the junior high, there was a message from Junior’s father saying the family would be gone all day on an emergency and asking Skye to bring the homework on Friday instead.

As she got back into her car, she debated returning to the grade school, but decided that seeing the Scumble River High’s Pass Out game girls was more urgent than finishing Perry Underwood’s reevaluation. The boy had
been in special education since he was three, and he was now completing fifth grade. This would be his fourth re-eval, and Skye seriously doubted there had been much change in his intellectual functioning or his processing skills. Perry’s deficiencies had always been in the areas of fluid reasoning and working memory, and while children were taught compensatory learning methods, those abilities rarely improved.

So far, Skye’s day was going incredibly well. She’d scored a win with the Alvin and Duncan issue, and had been able to delay her trip to Doozierland. Would she be three for three and make it through the lobby at the high school without Homer pouncing on her?

Yes!
The principal was nowhere in sight when Skye entered the building. She held her breath as she stopped at the front counter to sign in and grab her mail. Quickly scooping up the contents of her box, she speed-walked down the hall and secured herself behind her office door.

Adding to her sense of well-being, the last permission form from the parents of the Pass Out game girls was among the papers in her box. After getting what she needed from her tote bag and locking it in her desk drawer, Skye turned on her computer and clicked through until she found the student schedules.

Her luck was holding. All eleven girls had eighth period study hall together. Skye wrote passes for them, dropped them off for Opal to distribute, and left Homer a note explaining her plans.

The bell rang as she walked back to her office, and she checked her watch. It was ten twenty-five, third hour had just ended, and Trixie’s planning period was fourth. Deciding, for once, to take the fifteen-minute break she was entitled to according to her contract, Skye headed to the library. It was time to tell her best friend that she had finally set her wedding date, and to ask her to be her matron of honor.

After a detour to the staff lounge to buy a couple of sodas, Skye found Trixie in the library’s storeroom sitting on a stool pulled up to the worktable and typing away on her laptop. Several books were piled around her, including
Writing the Modern Mystery
,
Deadly Doses
, and
Self-Editing for Fiction Writers.

Trixie didn’t notice Skye until she cleared her throat. As if coming back from another world, Trixie looked up from the keyboard, and said, “Why haven’t I seen you since Monday?” She clicked the
SAVE
button and demanded, “What’s been happening with the murder and with the girls involved in that Pass Out game?”

“Sorry.” Skye hugged her friend. “During the day all three schools have had crises for me to deal with, and I’ve spent most of my evenings interviewing suspects with Wally. Not that we’re getting anywhere.”

“How about the girls?” Trixie asked, shutting down her computer and twisting to face Skye. “Ashley said it was the first time they had tried the game, and they couldn’t quite figure out how to do it since they all panicked when one of them started to lose consciousness. She promised me they wouldn’t try it again.”

“I’m talking to the other girls this afternoon.” Skye took a seat and handed Trixie a can of A&W Root Beer. “Did you believe Ashley?”

“Maybe.” Trixie popped the top of the soda and took a long swig. “But I told her if I found out she or any of the cheerleaders were ever involved in something like that again, they were off the squad.”

“Good.” Skye opened her Diet Coke and sipped. “Hopefully if the cheerleaders don’t play, the others won’t, either.”

“So, nothing on the murder?” Trixie got up and rummaged through a cupboard. “I heard the best suspect has disappeared. What’s up with that?”

“First, I’m not convinced Elijah is the killer.” Skye took the packet of peanut butter wafers Trixie handed her. “And second, there are still at least two or three other good suspects that don’t have an alibi, so I really hope everyone doesn’t convict him before he even has a chance to explain himself.”

“But since the ex-doc ran away, isn’t that almost like a confession?”

“No.” Skye tore open the cellophane and selected a cracker. “In fact, the more I think about it, the more I wonder if Elijah witnessed the murder and the real murderer lured him somewhere and killed him.”

“That would be a great plot twist.” Trixie licked peanut butter from her fingers, picked up her pen, and made a note on a piece of paper. “I think the eighty-year-old twins did it. Alone they’d be too frail, but together they could pull it off and no one would ever suspect such sweet old ladies.” Trixie tilted her head. “Hey, that would be a great title,
The Sweet Old Lady Murderers
.”

“I think there’s already a book out by that name.” Skye shook her head. “Although my understanding is that you can’t copyright a title. Still, you wouldn’t want to use it and have people think they’d already read your book. Although if it’s an old—”

“So…” Trixie cut her off, clearly losing interest in titles and getting back to a topic she found more interesting. “If you don’t think the ex-doctor did it, who do you think is the killer?”

“So far my money is on the photographer, but we’re going to talk to the rich business guy tonight, so he may move up on my list.”

“Cool.” Trixie widened her brown eyes and pleaded, “Any chance I can come along? It would be great research for my novel.”

“No.” Skye held up her hand at her friend’s protests.
“Sorry, but if I can distract you from homicide for a second, I do have some other exciting news, and an important question to ask you.”

“What?” Trixie perked up.

“Wally’s annulment will be finalized in the next month or two, and we’ve set the date for our wedding. It’s December thirtieth.” Skye grinned. “And I’d like you to be my matron of honor.”

“No!” Trixie let out a howl of anguish.

Skye watched, speechless, as tears rolled down her friend’s face.

I
t took Skye a couple of seconds to process Trixie’s refusal and subsequent waterworks. As soon as she could move, Skye hopped off her stool, put her arms around her friend, and asked, “What’s wrong?”

“I. Can’t. Be. In. Your. Wedding.” Trixie sobbed out the words.

“Why not?” Skye tilted her head. “If it’s the cost, we can pick out an inexpensive dress, or you can even wear something you already own.”

Skye thought that maybe Trixie and her husband might be having a rough time financially. Although Trixie made an okay salary as school librarian, Owen was a farmer, and the crops hadn’t been good the last couple of years. He had recently begun to breed exotic animals, but she wasn’t sure if that endeavor was making a profit yet.

“It’s not that.” Trixie hiccuped. “Actually, for once we’re doing pretty well.” She made a face. “Who knew there was actually money to be made raising llamas and emus?”

“Then what?” Now Skye was really confused. “I thought you liked Wally and wanted me to marry him. Did Simon get to you or something?”

When Skye had first broken up with Simon, he had tried various outlandish ways to win her back, but that had stopped six months ago, and she thought he had given up. Had he taken his efforts to a new level, a sneakier one?

“No.” Trixie pulled a tissue from her pocket. “How could you think I’d take Simon’s side? Haven’t I always said Wally was the man for you?”

“Yes.” Skye was stumped. “So why can’t you be my matron of honor?”

Trixie blew her nose. “Last night Owen surprised me with tickets for a seven-day Caribbean cruise.” She threw away the used Kleenex and stared dejectedly at Skye. “We leave December twenty-fourth and don’t get back until the day after your wedding.”

“Shit!” Skye put her hand to her mouth. She’d given up swearing for Lent.
Great!
Now she’d have to go to confession before Mass.

“My feelings exactly.” Trixie started crying again. “I’m always after Owen to be more romantic. To take vacations. And winter break is the perfect time for a farmer to be away.” She wiped her eyes on the back of her hand. “How can I tell him I don’t want to go?”

“You can’t.” Skye sighed. “Unfortunately, I can’t change my wedding, either. Negotiating that date was harder than getting the House and the Senate to agree on the national debt.”

“How come?” Trixie sniffed, searching her pocket for another tissue and coming up empty. “Was Wally really that difficult?”

“Not Wally.” Skye handed Trixie the box of Puffs from the shelves behind them. “Mom.” Skye explained May’s amazing change of heart, ending with, “So, since my mother is finally on board with me marrying Wally, I don’t want to derail her by insisting on a summer wedding when she claims there isn’t enough planning time.”

“How about next summer?” Trixie suggested. “That would give her over a year.”

“Wally doesn’t want to wait that long. And truthfully, neither do I.”

“Which is totally understandable.” Trixie exhaled noisily. “Crap! Crap! Crap! I guess that means I’m going to miss your wedding.”

“Wait a minute.” Skye narrowed her eyes. “What if I talk to Owen?”

“What good would that do?” Trixie asked, her expression hopeful.

Skye counted on her fingers. “December is nine months away.”

“Right.”

“So, maybe Owen can switch the cruise for one that leaves December thirty-first,” Skye suggested. “You’d have to rush a little, but I’m pretty sure I read that most ships leave in the late afternoon. So you’d have all day Sunday to get to the port.”

“That might work.” Trixie brightened. “We leave from Fort Lauderdale, and that’s only a two-and-a-half- or three-hour flight from here.”

“Which means you could catch a morning plane out of O’Hare on Sunday.” Skye grinned. “You’ll just have to behave yourself at the reception so you can get up early enough to make it to the airport.”

“Darn!” Trixie grinned back. “Guess that means only one glass of champagne.”

Promising to follow Trixie home after school so she could speak with Owen right away, Skye gave her friend a final hug, grabbed her can of soda and the half-eaten packet of crackers, and headed toward the door. She had three hours until she saw the Pass Out game girls. If she worked straight through, she could score the tests from the psych evaluation she’d completed on a third grader who had somehow fooled everyone into believing he
could read. Heck, she might even get a couple of reports written before the girls showed up for their session.

At two forty-five, feeling satisfied with having accomplished so much on her to-do list, Skye greeted the eleven girls with a smile as they trooped into her office. None looked happy to be there, but only a couple seemed out-and-out resentful.

Skye knew the ringleader, Bitsy Kessler, from her cosponsorship of the school newspaper. Bitsy had been a freshman when the
Scoop
was formed, and had been on its staff for the past four years.

Although Bitsy came across as an airhead, and was by no means the sharpest eyeliner in the makeup case, she had shown a real talent for writing on-target satirical humor. Her contributions had been a consistent hit among both students and staff.

Knowing that she would have such a big group at this counseling session, Skye had had the custodian bring in folding chairs. She was just thankful that her office at the high school could actually accommodate such a large number.

Once the girls were seated in a circle, Skye introduced herself and had them all identify themselves. Regrettably, she knew she probably wouldn’t remember all of them, because so many looked alike. Although they claimed to want individuality, they usually adopted similar clothing styles, hair, and makeup. Too bad it would be considered unprofessional and less than therapeutic to ask them to wear name tags.