Murder of a Creped Suzette (11 page)

“No problem.” Trixie pressed the powdered sugar from inside the cardboard tray into a tiny ball and licked it from her fingers. “I can take him from after lunch until the end of the day.” She crumbled the cellophane. “Normally, I’d go home on my break and drop the dog off with Owen, but he’s going to some estate sale with your dad today.”

“Too bad.” Skye had deliberately omitted her search for Owen, since she’d been afraid Owen was AWOL again. “That would have been a great solution.”

“Yeah.”

As the two women got up, Skye asked, “Did Owen ever say where he was Saturday when you were looking for him?” She hadn’t had a chance to talk to Trixie either Sunday or Monday, and now the coincidence of the black truck along with Owen being MIA the same afternoon that Suzette was missing troubled Skye.

“Sort of.” Trixie’s smile dimmed. “He said he ran into an old friend after his business meeting and they went into Joliet for a drink.” She led the way into the library. “I told him I didn’t care if he went out with friends. All I wanted was for him to call and tell me.”

“That’s a reasonable request.”

“He promised to let me know next time.”

“Good.” Skye waved good-bye, walking away before Trixie could see the worry on her face. Could Owen’s old friend have been Suzette?

 

During the last of the two lunch periods, Skye checked the teachers’ lounge to see who was there, and thus whose classroom would be unoccupied. When she spotted Alana, Skye hurried back to her office, put Toby into the computer paper box, and snuck him over to the art room and out its exterior door.

While the little dog was doing his business, Skye’s thoughts went back to Owen’s truck. Had it been the one she saw? Concentrating, she tried to recall some detail that would distinguish his dusty black pickup from the one Suzette had arrived in. She knew she had seen something, but couldn’t remember what. Deep in thought, she failed to notice that the marching band had assembled across the lawn from her—at least she didn’t notice them until the loud bleat of a tuba startled her from her contemplation.

At the sound of the first note, Toby stiffened. His head whipped toward the assembled musicians, and with his ears twitching, he barked furiously and lunged in their direction. The leash jerked in Skye’s hand and she felt something pop in her shoulder.

Despite the pain, Skye hung on tight. She reeled in the eighteen-pound dog like a trout on the end of a fishing pole, scooped him up, and dashed inside. Panting, she plastered herself against the side of the wall and hoped no one had seen Toby. Or if they did, that they wouldn’t bother to find out why there was a dog taking a whiz on the school’s memorial crab apple tree.

As she closed the door, Skye heard the band director shout, “Britney, quit trying to be the center of attention. Everyone can see there’s no animal over there. Just be quiet and play your flute.”

After the near miss, Skye was relieved to deposit Toby with Trixie and to see her first counseling client—even if it was Ian Gooding, a precocious twelve-year-old freshman whom Skye had argued against double promoting last year due to the socialization issues she knew would arise.

Her suggestion—that Ian remain with his age group but that his curriculum be adjusted to meet his unique needs—had been rejected by the superintendent on the grounds that it would cost too much money. Since he had an IQ of over 165, his parents understandably wanted their son to be academically challenged, and they’d demanded that he skip seventh and eighth grades and go directly to high school.

Within a week Skye had been asked to see him for counseling. He had no friends and alienated nearly everyone with whom he interacted. This was their third session, and she wondered what test she would have to pass this time before he would talk to her.

In their first meeting, Skye had had to beat him at chess—thank goodness Simon had taught her well. The second time, he brought a Sudoku for her to complete. Today she was hoping for a crossword puzzle, but he surprised her by actually wanting to discuss an incident he’d been involved in on the school bus.

Skye suspected his progress had more to do with a new girl who had moved in last week than with her skill as a therapist, but she would take improvement however it occurred.

After a lengthy explanation, Ian finally got to his real question. “What I want to know, Ms. Denison, is how I should act so that Christy will like me.”

“Just be yourself.” Skye smiled reassuringly at the preteen. “But maybe just a little less judgmental of other people’s limitations.”

“Even the really stupid ones?”

“Especially those who are less fortunate than you.” Skye made sure she had eye contact. “Everyone has a place in this world. You just need to find yours.”

“But I’m a geek.” He ducked his head and mumbled, “Christy will never like the real me.”

“She might.” Skye knew that the young lady he was referring to was also gifted—not that she could share that information with Ian. Instead she said, “The people who matter won’t mind if you’re yourself, and the people who do mind don’t matter.”

Ian’s expression was skeptical, but as he left Skye’s office he promised to think about what she’d said.

In comparison to Ian, the next two students were easy; both were cooperative and working hard on their counseling goals. Skye sent the last one back to his classroom a few minutes before the bell rang, then headed toward the library to retrieve Toby.

Congratulating herself on having concealed the little dog’s presence for an entire day, she didn’t notice Homer Knapik until his hairy hand descended on her shoulder. The principal’s lumbering movements, protruding belly, and the graying hair that grew on nearly every visible part of his body made him look like Hollywood’s concept of the abominable snowman.

Instead of greeting her, Homer grumbled, “Why didn’t you answer your phone? I’ve been calling you for the past hour.”

“I put it on voice mail when I’m with students,” Skye reminded him, perhaps for the fiftieth time. “Did you leave a message?”

“Message, smessage,” Homer groused. “Come on or we’ll never get this meeting over with.”

“What meeting?” If she had to explain with one word why the human race would never achieve its full potential,
meeting
would be that word.

“The one you’re making us late for.” Homer thrust his head at her.

Skye stepped out of bad-breath range. “What’s it about?”

“Mrs. Gooding wants to talk about that little brainiac of hers.”

“Now?” Skye’s heart sank. She couldn’t stay late today. She had to rescue Toby and get to the police station. “If it’s not an emergency, she should make an appointment like everyone else.”

“Everyone else isn’t on the school board.” Homer grabbed Skye’s elbow and shoved her forward. “After five years in public education, you don’t still believe that everyone gets treated equally, do you?”

Skye ignored his cynicism. “Where are we going?” she asked, cringing because she already knew the answer. There was only one place in this direction where they sometimes held conferences.

“The library.”

Of course. Where else? Skye tried to hang back, but Homer kept pulling.

When they arrived, Skye was relieved to see that Trixie had seated Mrs. Gooding as far as possible from the storage room where Toby was currently ensconced. As Skye and Homer were sitting down, the final bell rang, and a few minutes later Ian’s teachers began to assemble.

Once everyone was present, Homer said, “Mrs. Gooding, what is it you’d like to discuss?”

“First—” A series of sneezes interrupted her. Once she found a tissue, blew her nose, and accepted a round of
God bless you
s, she continued. “I’d like to thank you all for your hard work with Ian. He hasn’t complained about being bored once yet.” She paused, sneezing twice more, then said, “But he has expressed an interest in dropping physical education and taking a real class in its place.”

“Well.” Homer stroked a tuft of hair that poked between the buttons of his shirt. “The problem with that is he needs PE credits to graduate.”

“But—” Mrs. Gooding broke off, overcome by a bout of sneezing. Once she had wiped her nose, she said, “Sorry. I can’t think what’s making me sneeze. The only thing I’m allergic to is dogs.”

Skye stole a quick glance at the storage room. A white paw was sticking out from under the door. “It’s probably mold,” she suggested. “This is an old building after all.” She had to get this meeting over with ASAP. “Maybe we should move somewhere else.”

Homer glared at Skye. “I’m sure we’re almost done. Right, Mrs. Gooding?”

“Yes.” Mrs. Gooding dabbed at her watering eyes with a Kleenex. “I just wanted to speak to the math teacher about the note you sent me yesterday.”

“The one about Ian’s assignments?” the math teacher asked.

“Uh-huh.”
Mrs. Gooding nodded. “I checked with him, and he said that his homework is not missing; it’s just having an out-of-notebook experience.”

Skye looked to see if Mrs. Gooding was joking, but her expression was completely serious.

“Fine.” The math teacher didn’t blink. “Please tell Ian that his homework better rematerialize by tomorrow or he’s getting a zero.”

“Anything else?” Homer interjected before Mrs. Gooding could respond.

“Yes.” Mrs. Gooding turned to Skye. “How is Ian’s counseling going?”

“Slow but sure.” Skye’s tone was encouraging. “He’s starting to talk more.”

“About?”

“I can’t discuss specifics.” Skye shifted in her chair. “Remember, I told you about confidentiality when you signed the permission slip?”

“Good.” Homer shoved back his chair. “Then if there’s nothing else . . . ?”

“One more thing.”

While Mrs. Gooding paused for another sneeze, Skye watched in horror as one of Trixie’s student helpers walked up to the storage room, inserted her key, and opened the door. Toby erupted from the confined space like Silly String from a can.

Skye took off after him, but he eluded her every attempt to corral him. She and the dog did a few laps around the library. Books flew off the shelves as Skye tried to right herself while she skidded around corners. Toby took the same hairpin turns with ease. He looked back every once in a while to see if Skye was keeping up with him, but the moment she got near enough to grab him, he danced away, yipping excitedly.

Finally he grew bored with the game, abruptly changed direction, and zipped over to where everyone in the meeting was sitting. Before Skye could reach him, he ran up to Homer, raised his leg, and peed on the principal’s shiny black shoes.

 

Toby’s antics put a quick halt to the conference. Homer barely waited until everyone had fled before he laid into Skye. His tirade eventually wound down, ending with, “And I want a new pair of these exact same shoes on my desk by tomorrow morning or you’re fired.”

“Where—?”

“Franklin’s in Clay Center. Size ten double-E. They close at six.”

“Yes, sir. I’m so sorry.” Skye stared at the floor as she explained her predicament. Lifting her head, she said, “It won’t happen again. I . . .” She trailed off; Homer was no longer there. The only trace of him was his soaked, smelly shoes left in the middle of the table.

 

Having already deposited Toby in her car, Skye was walking back to her office to get her purse when the school’s music teacher, carrying a large box that obstructed her view, bumped into Skye in the hall. The impact caused the contents to spill all over the floor.

“Oops.” Noreen Iverson was in her late forties, with a smooth complexion and comfortable figure. “You must think I’m really clumsy.”

“Not at all.” Skye squatted to help the woman gather her belongings. “I drop stuff all the time.”

“I guess I’m a little distracted today.” Noreen’s cheeks turned red. “I heard some disturbing news this morning and I can’t get it out of my mind.”

“Oh?”

“About the poor girl who was found dead at the old Hutton dairy.” Noreen picked up pages of music and stuffed them into the carton.

“Yes.” Skye was thankful no one seemed to know that she was the one who had found the body.

“My niece is an EMT and she was called out there to take care of some woman who fainted,” Noreen explained. “She heard one of the officers say the dead girl was Suzette Neal.”

“Really?”
Great!
The news was out before the identification was official. She’d have to let Wally know. “The singer from Saturday night’s concert?”

“Yes.” Noreen straightened. “But I knew her when she was just a baby.”

“I saw from the flyer that she was from around here,” Skye said, hoping to encourage the woman to continue.

“Her father was my supervisor when I student taught here twenty-seven years ago.” Noreen’s hazel eyes softened. “He was such a sweet, handsome guy.”

“Did he work here long?” Skye nabbed another stray sheet of music and handed it over.

“Just that one year. His wife died very suddenly—a terrible accident—and he was a changed man after that.” Noreen hoisted the refilled carton into her arms, adding as she walked away, “In fact, when he left, they offered me his job and I’ve been here ever since.”

Well, that solved one mystery. Mr. Neal had been a teacher. When Skye got to her office, she pulled out the list of questions she’d made regarding Mrs. Neal’s death and made a quick note. Another thing to share with Wally when she talked to him this afternoon.

“Mama He’s Crazy”

A
few minutes later, when Skye slid into her car, Toby greeted her with a tail wag and a happy woof. For a second, she relaxed and stroked his soft white fur, but then the memory of Wally saying he wanted to talk to her about something personal intruded.

She had deliberately refused to think about what he’d said, and had even managed to stop herself from asking him about it when he’d called that morning. Now that she was on her way to meet him, there was no avoiding the panicky feeling in the pit of her stomach. If the news had been good, he would have told her right away, which meant it must be bad. Just how bad was the question.