Murder of a Sleeping Beauty (6 page)

Most of the teachers looked as numb as Skye felt. Some had tears rolling down their cheeks. Skye asked, “Any questions?”

After dealing with the usual queries about who should say what to the students’ questions, Skye dismissed the faculty. There were two more things she had to do before the day officially started. She wanted to ask the secretary to get some coffee, soft drinks, donuts, and snacks for the counseling rooms. And she had to call Wally and find out if a cause of death had been established.
How
was usually the first thing teens wanted to know. Too bad that question was followed closely by
why
, something that the adults could never answer.

 

 

 

 

T
he students filed silently into the cafeteria. There was none of the joking, laughter, or raised voices Skye had come to expect at an assembly. They found seats on the benches, without the usual fuss of who sat next to whom, and stared forward. Skye felt as if she were about to address the Stepford children.

She walked nervously to the front of the room, near the window where food trays were usually handed out. The pea-green cinder-block walls were hung with posters advertising the seven basic food groups and nutritionally balanced meals. Many had been altered with Magic Marker and teenage wit. Skye blinked; was that supposed to be a condom on that banana?

A heavy odor of Tater Tots and hot dogs hung in the airless room. Skye opened her mouth, but found she couldn’t remember what she had meant to say. The eerie silence and concentrated stares were making her nervous.

This was one of the many tough parts of her job. She had to keep her own emotions in check in order to create an atmosphere in which the students would feel safe to expose their feelings. Teens only felt secure if the adults around them exhibited a calm, unruffled, it’s-all-being-handled type of demeanor.

With an effort, she pulled herself together and began, “As many of you know, my name is Ms. Denison, and I’m the school psychologist.” Skye smiled slightly and nodded at several students she recognized. “I’m sure you’ve all heard the sad news—Lorelei Ingels was found dead yesterday on the school stage. We don’t know the cause of death, but we will share that information with you as soon as we do find out. There is no reason to believe that she suffered, or that there is any danger to anyone else.”

Skye studied the faces in front of her. Most of the teens were staring back at her. She could hear whispers starting as she continued, “In a few minutes Mr. Knapik will ring the bell, and everyone should go to their first-hour classes. Anyone who feels too upset should stay here and we’ll talk some more.”

After the teens were dismissed, Skye did a quick count of how many were left. About forty kids remained seated. They ranged from clumps of eight or ten, to single students hunkered by themselves.

Forty was far too many for an effective group intervention. She’d have to divide them among the helpers she had available. Weighing the personalities involved, Skye resolved to give Abby the least upset kids. The school nurse tended to be a bit clinical, which would be appropriate for the teens who would be fine as soon as they could sort out the experience in their minds.

Trixie was a great listener. She could take the kids who were upset more with the idea of someone dying than with Lorelei’s death in particular.

Skye would take Lorelei’s closest friends—the cheerleaders, the drama crowd, and the student council.

“Okay, in a little bit we’ll divide up into three groups. Mrs. Frayne will take some of you to the library to talk, Ms. Fleming’s bunch will go to the music room, and the rest will come with me to the guidance office.”

Skye scanned the crowd. How to decide who was the least upset? She shrugged. Maybe this wasn’t the correct way to approach this crisis, but it was all she could think of. She hadn’t been given much training for this type of incident. “Before we break into groups, I’d like you each to tell me a little bit about how you knew Lorelei.”

Three girls were clustered together at the front table. One with short blond curls met Skye’s gaze and lifted an eyebrow. Skye pointed to her. “Would you go first?”

“I was her best friend. We were co-captains of the cheerleading squad.”

Skye thought she heard a small voice say, “Lorelei let you be her assistant. You were never the co-captain.”

It was interesting how quickly people jumped in to get their version across. Skye dipped her head to the two other girls. “Were you on the squad, too?”

They nodded and whispered.

That triad would come with Skye.

A muscular young man sitting with two other guys caught Skye’s attention next, and she walked over to them. “And how did you know Lorelei?”

His voice cracked when he answered, “She was my girlfriend.”

“I’m so sorry.” This boy would probably be the chief mourner. She would have to watch him closely. “Are these your friends?” Skye indicated the teens flanking him.

“Yes, we’re on the football team together.”

My group, too.
She worked her way through the rest of the kids. The last girl sat by herself in the back, staring into space and looking out of place among the ultraslim blondes who had been in Lorelei’s inner circle. She had a voluptuous figure and long, wavy brown hair. It took Skye several tries to get the girl’s attention.

Finally, the loner said, “I’m no one. Lorelei didn’t know I was alive.”

Skye looked at her quizzically.

The girl rose from her seat. Her brown eyes blazed. “I hated her. I’m glad she’s dead.”

It was close to ten-thirty by the time Skye left the guidance office. Several of the students had asked for individual sessions. She was heading for the faculty lounge and the staff bathroom when Opal Hill, the school secretary, came flying down the hall. Normally Opal reminded Skye of a mouse, but today, dressed all in black, she looked more like a bat.

“Oh, thank goodness I found you. Mr. Knapik is in with the coordinator from the co-op and has ordered me not to disturb them, but the police are here. What should I do?”

“Tell Homer immediately.”

“No, I can’t.”

“Well, I can.” Skye marched toward the office, trailed by the secretary.

Wally, Officer Quirk, and two other Scumble River policemen were standing in the main office. Skye walked past them, ignoring their words, and knocked on Homer’s door. No answer. She knocked again and leaned her head against the wood. Not a sound. She tried the door. It opened easily, but no one was in the room.

Skye turned to Wally. “Did you see Homer leave this office?”

The chief shook his head. “No, but we don’t need him. Just give us the class lists, and we’ll pull the students we need to talk to.”

Skye ignored Wally and tried Opal. “Was Homer in his office when the police arrived and you left to get me?”

The secretary nodded.

“How the heck did he get out?” Skye scanned the inside of Homer’s office, and walked over to the closed drapes. Come to think of it, she had never seen them open. She stuck her hand underneath the fabric and fished for the cord. Nabbing it, she yanked. The curtains swished back to reveal not the window Skye was expecting, but a door designed to look like a window from the outside of the building.

Opal murmured, “I guess they went to lunch.”

“At ten-thirty?”

The other woman shrugged.

Skye turned to Wally. “You’ll have to wait for them to get back. Opal and I don’t have the authority to let you have the list or interview students.”

Wally’s face was rigid. “We don’t need your permission.”

Skye didn’t know what the law said, but she knew what parent reaction would be if they allowed Wally free rein. “Sorry, but if you insist, we’ll advise students not to talk to you until we can reach their parents.”

“You’re out of line.” Wally sighed. “I understand you want to protect your kids, but the longer we wait, the colder the trail gets.”

What he had just said finally sank through to Skye. “Are you saying she was murdered?”

 

Skye screamed. It felt good, so she did it again. One more time, she decided, and then she could face returning to the chaos inside the high school. She had borrowed Trixie’s car keys and locked herself in the Mustang in order to blow off some steam and refrain from hitting someone.

The question wasn’t whom to smack, but whom to smack first? The coach/guidance counselor, who hated sharing a room with Skye and kept trying to sneak into the guidance office and force Skye out? The insufferable coordinator from the co-op, who had finally dropped by but still refused to interact with any of the students, and instead had locked himself in with Homer, then had had the nerve to go out to lunch? Or Wally, who continued to try to freeze Skye with his indifference every time they were in the same room together?

Reluctantly, Skye emerged from the small car. The dark interior had been soothing, almost like being inside a mug of hot cocoa. Too bad a cup of Swiss Miss wasn’t inside of her; she could use a shot of chocolate comfort right now. As she entered the school, she could hear sounds of male bonding—guffaws, chuckles, and snickers—coming from behind the principal’s closed door. She looked at her watch—nearly noon. Obviously the co-op coordinator and Homer had returned from their early luncheon.

All the buttons on the telephone were lit, and as fast as Opal answered one, another line would light up. Her part of the conversations consisted of, “Sorry, we can’t give out that information.” Then she paused as the person on the other end yelled at her. She finished with, “I’m really sorry, but I’m not allowed to say.”

The secretary’s sparse mouse-colored hair stood on end, and her watery brown eyes were red-rimmed from the tears she kept dabbing away with a shredded tissue. Obviously the woman was overwhelmed by the volume and vituperativeness of the calls.

Skye stared at Homer’s closed door. Opal was nearing a breakdown, and the principal needed to do something about it. A sudden wave of male laughter helped Skye make up her mind. With some principals she used reason to achieve what she wanted. With others she used diplomacy. Homer reacted only to frontal attacks.

She knocked sharply on the door and entered without waiting for permission. “Homer, the phones are ringing off the wall. Opal needs someone to help her with all the calls.”

The jovial expression on the principal’s face changed to one of annoyance. “What do you want me to do about it? You’ve confiscated all my personnel.”

Skye counted to ten and reminded herself of Homer’s age and position before she replied. “Two, I’m only using two of your people.”

“Sure, but how about all the teachers who are too upset to teach their classes?” Homer’s tone was sarcastic.

“I did suggest hiring some floating subs for today,” she reminded him, keeping hold of her temper with great difficulty.

“It’s not in the budget.” Homer sat back in his chair and shook the hair out of his eyes. “Did you know the co-op is going to charge us for the people they sent over? You didn’t have authorization to request help. We may have to take that from your salary.”

Skye opened her mouth and closed it without speaking. She glanced at the silent coordinator. She could swear he had a smirk on his face. Between gritted teeth she muttered, “Fine. Now, about some help for Opal . . .”

Homer sighed. “Who did you have in mind?”

“Coach,” Skye answered. “It’s his guidance counselor day, and since he has refused to do any crisis counseling, and the guidance office is occupied, he’s just sitting around in the teachers’ lounge stirring up the faculty.”

“He won’t like this,” Homer said.

“Really? And I’m having such a good time today myself.” Skye knew she shouldn’t be so sarcastic, but it had just slipped out, and she couldn’t back down now.

“Okay, Coach can answer phones.” Homer leaned back in his chair. “You stop and tell him on your way back to the guidance office.”

“I think it would be better coming from you.” Skye pushed the phone toward Homer. “For some reason, Coach thinks I’m out to get him.”

As Homer dialed and spoke, Skye smiled. She loved a twofer—help for Opal and a way to keep Coach out of the guidance office.

After the principal got off the phone, Skye said, “Did you know that the police were here and tried to question the students?”

“No, that must have been when we were . . . ah . . . at that special meeting we had to attend.”

“Right.”
Was that the one Ronald McDonald chaired?
Skye tried to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. “Anyway, what will we do when they come back?”

“I’ll check with the school lawyer and see.” Homer reached for the phone he had just pushed aside. He spoke for a while, and after he hung up, he said, “Nope, Bob says not to let the police question the students. The law is unclear, but we could be in trouble if the parents could prove we were negligent in protecting their child’s rights. Either school personnel or a parent must be with the child when he or she is interviewed.”