Murder of a Sleeping Beauty (31 page)

There was nothing about being pregnant, and Skye was convinced that the teen was unaware that she was going to have a baby. And if Lorelei didn’t suspect, the father surely couldn’t know, which eliminated motives for both Kent and Troy.

Skye took a deep breath. That was the last entry, the day before she died. Lorelei must have felt as if she were the bone, and everyone she knew was a dog trying to take a bite. Maybe she had killed herself after all.

No, Skye was almost certain that wasn’t the case. The circumstances just didn’t fit what she knew of teen suicide—no note, no giving away of personal items, and why would she crush the pills into her juice rather than swallow them whole?

The more she thought about it, the more she believed that the killer was Priscilla VanHorn, who had wanted to eliminate Lorelei from competing with Zoë—especially if the woman had found out Lorelei was taking the diet drugs again. It was clear from the diary that Lorelei was used to accepting food and drink from Priscilla. With Troy and Kent out of the running, Zoë’s mother had the strongest motive. She certainly had the opportunity—she had been at the school that morning, and very likely saw Lorelei in the hall. That left only means. The pills would be easy enough to get, but did she have access to that type of juice? Surely, she would have used whatever was handy.

The phone had rung several times while Skye had been reading, and she had let the machine take the calls. Now she dragged herself into the kitchen, poured a can of Diet Coke over ice, and punched the play button.

May’s voice ricochetted off the walls. “Where are you? It’s after nine on a school night. Are you okay?”

Charlie was next. “I heard they arrested Kent Walker. Call me right away.”

The last call was from Simon. “Hi, thanks for the heads-up about Frannie and Justin. Xavier and I gave them a good scare, as you suggested, but we told them they could work off their ‘fine’ this summer around the funeral home. Sorry you were blamed for their crime. I’m looking forward to our youth committee meeting Friday.”

His warm tone soothed Skye’s frazzled nerves. She reached for the phone, but noticed it was after eleven. Too late to return his call.

Instead, Skye got ready for bed. She stretched out on the crisp cotton sheets and tried to relax. Bingo burrowed into the crook of her knees, purring. But instead of sleep, various ways of proving that Priscilla had killed Lorelei played in her head.

By 3 A.M. she was annoyed, by four concerned, and by five resigned to a sleepless night. Fighting fatigue, Skye got up, dressed, and headed to work. At least it was Wednesday. The week was half-over.

Once again, Skye arrived at the high school well before anyone else. Before her swim, she photocopied the diary, intending to give the original to Wally sometime that day. Her stack of evidence was growing. Too bad it didn’t point to any one person.

The first bell had yet to ring, and already she had returned both Simon’s call and her mother’s. Boy, if a person could eliminate the need to sleep, she could really get a lot done.

She was dialing Charlie’s number when he walked into her office and kissed her on the forehead. “So, did Walker kill her?”

“I don’t think so.” Skye craned her neck to look him in the eye. “Sit down.”

“Can’t. I’ve got lots to do this morning.” Charlie ran his fingers through his snow-white hair. “Got to do damage control.”

“Concentrate on the affair.”

Charlie’s face turned red. “But who did kill that girl?”

“I think it was Priscilla VanHorn.” Skye sketched out her reasoning, telling him about her discovery of the diary.

“Not enough to get an arrest.” Charlie paced the room. “Have you told Wally any of this?”

“No. Like you said, I don’t have any proof.”

“I’ll drop the diary off, so you don’t have to be involved with that.”

“Thanks. I think Wally’ll look at it with less prejudice if it doesn’t come from me. How are you going to explain having it?”

“I had a hunch, came over this morning and looked, and there it was.” Charlie moved to the door. “We really need to figure out something before this stuff with Kent Walker permanently damages the school’s reputation.”

I think it’s too late to save our reputation.
“It’d also be nice if he didn’t go to jail for a crime he didn’t commit.”

“Yeah.” As Charlie stepped out the door, his voice trailed back into the room, “I’m real worried about that.”

 

The rest of the day was a total waste. Skye was unable to concentrate on any of her duties or figure out what she should do next about Lorelei’s murder. Finally, a few minutes before the final bell, she had a glimmer of an idea. The key to the murderer’s identity was the juice bottle. It was so unusual that only one chain of stores in the Chicago area carried it. Which meant that odds were, the person in Scumble River who drank it was the killer.

So, if Skye went to the VanHorn’s house and saw bottles of Sea Mist Herbal Enhanced Juice there, then Priscilla was the murderer. She knew finding the drink would never be enough to convict the woman, but she’d figure out how to do that once she knew for sure who the killer was.

Now, what excuse could she use to drop by? A smile crept across Skye’s face. The Principal’s Choice Award. It was given to the best all-around student who excelled in school, the community, and at home. Skye could say she was gathering information on the finalists.

As soon as school ended Skye drove to the VanHorn home. When she explained why she was there, Mrs. VanHorn welcomed her with open arms. “Come in, come in. What a pleasant surprise. I wanted to apologize for hitting your Uncle Charlie the other day at the pageant. I don’t know what came over me.”

“He understands. No harm done.” Skye forced the words out of her mouth, wishing she could say half of what she really thought.

She followed the woman into an overdecorated living room. The walls were covered with pictures of Zoë and plaques she’d won—mostly for second place. A thick rose carpet showed every footprint as the women made their way to the furniture.

Mrs. VanHorn nearly pushed Skye into a puffy, chintz-covered chair. “Sit down. Can I get you something to drink?”

Skye hid her smile. Things were working out just as she planned. She crossed her fingers and said, “Why, thank you. I hate to be a bother, but I’m on a new diet, and the only things I’m allowed to drink are herbal enhanced juices. You wouldn’t happen to have any, would you? I particularly like the ones Sea Mist puts out.”

“Gee, I’m sorry. All we’ve got is Diet Pepsi, coffee, tea, milk, or regular old orange juice.” She twisted the handkerchief she held. “I could run next door and see if they have any of that herbal stuff, while you look at Zoë’s photo albums.”

Skye felt a stab of disappointment. Either Priscilla VanHorn wasn’t the murderer, or she was a lot smarter than she looked. “Oh, I couldn’t put you out.” To be absolutely sure Priscilla didn’t have the juice, she needed a peek in the fridge and pantry. She was counting on the Scumble River code of hospitality, which said you must make every attempt to get the guest what he or she wants.

“Nonsense. It’ll just take a second. Myrna owes me.” Priscilla turned to leave, but said over her shoulder, “The photo albums are under the coffee table.”

As soon as Skye heard the door close, she shot out of the chair. The kitchen was visible at the end of the hall. She hurried into it and flung open the refrigerator door. No Sea Mist. While she was at it, Skye checked the pantry and the attached garage. No herbal juice anywhere.

She sank back in the overstuffed chair just as she heard the front door open and Mrs. VanHorn’s voice say, “Sorry, no luck. They didn’t have any of that stuff either.”

Skye thought quickly. She needed information on the Ingels, and who best to give it than their number one rival? “That’s all right. I appreciate the effort. Looking at all these wonderful photos of Zoë, I couldn’t help but notice Lorelei and her mother are in most of them.”

Mrs. VanHorn frowned. “Lorna’s so pushy. It wasn’t enough that her daughter won all the contests, she couldn’t even let poor Zoë enjoy her moments as finalist and first runner-up.”

“It was mostly Lorna, not Lorelei, pushing into the spotlight?”

“Definitely. You know that poor, sweet girl wanted to quit, and her mama wouldn’t let her.” Priscilla sat back and sighed. “I suppose now Lorna will focus all her energy on Linette, poor child.”

“I’d heard that Lorelei wanted out, but I don’t understand why.”

“Well, Lorelei wasn’t naturally thin like my Zoë, and she was sick of the pills and the diets, but Lorna just insisted she maintain her size-two figure.”

Skye tsked. “I wonder why it was so important to Mrs. Ingels.”

“I heard an interesting story about that.” Priscilla leaned forward. “Seems that Lorna was quite the beauty-pageant winner in her day. She won all the titles, up to Miss Illinois. And right before she was supposed to compete in that contest, she started to gain weight. Turned out she was five months pregnant. Because she was so thin, she often missed her period, so she had no idea.”

Skye did the math in her head. If Lorelei were the child of that pregnancy, that would make Lorna only thirty-six and Skye knew the woman was older than that. “Did Lorelei have an older sibling?”

“No, Lorna miscarried that baby.” Priscilla clasped her handkerchief to her chest. “So sad. No crown, no baby, and a marriage you’ve been forced into. Not a lot to count for your life’s achievements.”

 

It took an hour for Skye to extricate herself from Priscilla VanHorn’s verbal grasp. She’d had to look at every album, award, and trophy, and promise to write a glowing recommendation for Zoë for the Principal’s Choice Award before the mother would allow her to leave.

Now she sat at home, rubbing Bingo’s chin and thinking furiously. If Priscilla VanHorn wasn’t the murderer, then it had to be Lorna Ingels. Even though Lorelei didn’t know she was pregnant yet, her mother might have suspected it due to the missed periods, and perhaps thought that Lorelei would go through exactly what she herself had. But was Lorna twisted enough to think she was saving Lorelei by killing her?

The furiously ringing phone aroused Skye from her reverie. Dumping Bingo onto the sofa, she raced the answering machine, and scooped up the receiver up with one ring to spare. “Hello.”

“Oh, Skye, thank God you’re home. We need a favor.”

Skye wasn’t sure which twin was speaking. “Ginger? Gillian?”

“It’s Ginger. Could you go get Iris and Kristin?”

“Now?”

“Yes! They’re supposed to be picked up at six, which was perfect because we were supposed to get off work at five-thirty, but our cash drawers aren’t balancing and the computer’s going crazy and no one is allowed to leave the bank. We’ve tried everyone, and no one is home.”

“Sure, I’ll get them. Where are they?”

“That’s just it. They’re at Linette Ingels’s.”

Ginger continued, interrupting Skye’s thoughts, “Lorna gets so pissy if we’re late picking the kids up from her house.”

This was the first time Skye had ever heard her cousin sound intimidated. She wondered why Ginger found Lorna so alarming. She looked at the clock on the microwave. It was ten to six. “Okay, I’d better go right now. I’ll bring them back here until you get off work.”

“Thanks. We owe you one.”

 

Skye arrived at the Ingels’ house at one minute before six. Their Polish housekeeper answered the door, and Skye explained she was there to pick up the girls.

The housekeeper gestured her into the foyer and left the room. When she returned she said in heavily accented English, “Girls are watching video with Miss Linette. Tape will be over in ten minutes. You wait?”

“Sure, no problem.” Skye looked around for somewhere to sit. “Are Mr. and Mrs. Ingels home?”

“No, they are out.” The woman turned. “I need to watch dinner. You would like to sit in library?”

“I’ll just sit in the kitchen and keep you company, if that’s okay?” Skye was counting on the housekeeper’s good manners.

A fleeting frown crossed the woman’s forehead. “Sure, sure, this way.”

The kitchen was huge, with stainless-steel appliances and marble counters. The housekeeper tried to steer Skye to an oak table that could seat twelve without crowding, but Skye edged her way to a stool at the counter, closer to the action.

The woman went to the stove and stirred something in a pot, then checked a pan in the oven. Turning back to Skye, she asked, “You would like drink?”

“Yes, thanks.” Before the housekeeper could react, Skye hopped off her stool and scurried over to the fridge. “Go ahead with your cooking, I’ll get it myself.”