Murder of a Bookstore Babe (14 page)

“I do not interfere.” Skye refused to let someone who resembled a Yeti disparage the assistance she provided the police. “I help.”

Homer snorted. “Quit finding dead bodies. Quit finding murderers. Quit bugging the crap out of me.” Homer pointed a hairy finger at her. “Do what we pay you for.”

“What are you talking about?” Skye always got her work finished, even when it meant staying late and taking reports home to finish. “What haven’t I done?”

“Straightened out Pru Cormorant.” Homer pretended to search for something in a drawer, not looking at Skye when he muttered, “She’s gone a little off.”

“So, what’s new?” Skye retorted. “She’s been past her sell-by date for years.”

The English teacher had been at Scumble River High for as long as Homer had and was a law unto herself. Every once in a while she did something so atrocious that Homer was forced to take some action, like the time she wrote on a report card,
Since our last conference, your child has reached rock bottom and started to dig
.

Unfortunately, Homer usually delegated the task of doing something about Pru to Skye. This was the beginning of Skye’s sixth year at Scumble River High and at least the third time Homer had ordered her to “fix” Pru.

“She’s got her panties in a bunch over that new bookshop.” Homer pushed a clipboard across his desktop to Skye. “She wants the whole school to sign this petition and boycott the store.” He turned his back. “You’ve got to get her under control.”

Skye cringed. “That isn’t
my
job. It’s
yours
.”

Homer ignored Skye and continued, “Worse yet, she’s already sent petitions home to some parents. I’ve been getting calls all weekend asking if what Corny is saying is true and wanting to know what the school is doing about this matter.”

“I discussed this with her last Friday.” Skye pushed the clipboard back toward Homer. “There’s absolutely no merit to her accusation that the bookstore is selling porn or books advocating devil worship.”

“And this was all before that girl was killed in the break-in.” Homer’s two oversize front teeth gnawed on his bottom lip. “I hear now Corny is claiming the wild animals they keep as pets are really the reason for the murder. Which doesn’t even make sense.”

“Holy moly.” And Skye had thought nothing Pru did could surprise her. “That’s ridiculous. The ‘wild animals’ are chinchillas, and they didn’t get loose. She, or one of her minions, let them loose.”

Oops!
She had forgotten to tell Wally about that episode, as well as what Charlie had said about Risé. She’d have to call him as soon as she was out of her meeting.

“I don’t give a damn.” Homer swept his desktop with his arm, sending the offending clipboard along with various other items, flying to the floor. “Just make Corny stop, so the parents quit calling me about this shit.”

“Why don’t you order her to stop?” Skye made a scornful noise and answered her own question. “Oh, yeah, she’s tenured, so you can’t, because you don’t have much to hold over her head, right?”

“So what?” he snapped. “It’s your job to convince her to quit being a pain in my crack. You’re the shrink. Counsel her about her evil ways.”

“Right.” He’d tried using that tack before. “The fact that you blatantly don’t believe in all that ‘psychobabble,’ as you put it, makes it pretty obvious your real motive is to pass the buck.”

“Have it your way.” Homer folded his hands across his paunch and leaned back. “Do it because I’m ordering you to, and because, unlike that lunatic English teacher,
you
do not have tenure.”

Skye opened her mouth to protest but closed it without speaking. He was right. Since she was considered a part of neither the teaching faculty nor the administration, she had none of the protections most of the staff enjoyed. She’d tried to join the union, as many of her fellow school psychologists in other school systems had, but so far the matter was still being considered.

“Any suggestion on how I can prevent Pru from acting within her constitutional rights?” Skye asked. Not that she didn’t want the teacher to cease and desist harassing the bookstore, but she had no idea how to make her stop.

“Nope.” Homer scratched behind a hairy ear.

Skye wondered whether she should get him a flea collar for Christmas this year.

“Just don’t mention I told you to do it.” Homer pointed his finger at her.

The ringing of the phone saved Skye from responding.

Homer snatched up the handset. “Yes?” He paused, then said, “No. No. Tell him I’m not here. . . . Hello, Shamus. What can I do for you?”

Skye flinched, hoping this call wasn’t about her. Dr. Shamus Wraige was the superintendent of the Scumble River School District, and not one of Skye’s biggest fans.

She unashamedly eavesdropped and heard Homer say, “No, I didn’t sanction that petition.” He listened, then whined, “Pru Cormorant sent it to her students’ parents without telling me.” He listened again before bleating, “I
do
have control of my staff. In fact, I just asked our psychologist to talk to Mrs. Cormorant about her concerns and suggest she not involve the school in her personal issues.” After a long pause, he said, “Ms. Denison assures me there is no merit to Mrs. Cormorant’s fears. Yes, sir. She’ll take care of it today.” He banged down the receiver and told Skye, “Dr. Wraige does not want to get one more call about this matter.” Homer dug a roll of antacids out of his desk drawer.

“And you told him I could stop Pru?”

“Yes, so hop to it.” Homer threw a handful of Tums into his mouth.

The white fizz around his lips made him look like a wolf with rabies. Normally Skye might have found that amusing. Not now. Not considering that he had just offered her up to the superintendent as a sacrificial lamb.

“You know”—Homer suddenly froze, and beads of sweat popped out on his forehead—“if Corny finds out I told you to stop her, she’ll hound me to hell and back.”

“I promise not to mention your name.”

“You’d better not,” Homer warned, then threw two more antacids into his mouth. “Because if that happens, I’m making you twice as miserable as she makes me.”

“I’ll do what I can, but truly, I have no idea how to get her to quit.”

Homer appeared to make a sudden decision. “I’ve got to make a call.” He picked up the phone. “You can go now.”

As she was gathering her things, Skye heard part of Homer’s conversation. “It’s me. I’ve decided we should go to the cabin this afternoon. Start packing now. I’ll be home in a couple of hours. I’ll call in sick for the rest of the week.”

Apparently, Homer wasn’t taking any chances that Pru Cormorant would turn her attentions to him.

He looked up from the file he had opened. “Are you still here? I thought you had an appointment at seven fifteen.” He looked pointedly at the clock on the wall behind her. “You’re late.”

Great!
Skye yanked open the door and dashed out of the office. As she jogged down the hall toward the library, where the meeting was being held, she ran through Homer’s list of commands: Stop finding bodies, stop finding murderers, and stop Pru Cormorant from riling up parents against the bookstore. Nope. She had as much chance of doing any of them as she had of winning a million dollars.

A
fter the meeting, which went well despite her tardiness, Skye spent a few minutes talking to Trixie about the murder, then retreated to the relative safety of her office. She sank into the chair behind the desk, let her tote bag fall to the floor, closed her eyes, and murmured to herself, “I totally take back all those times when I was a kid and I said I’d never need a nap.”

Shaking off her fatigue, Skye turned on her computer and found the document containing the teachers’ schedule. The first of Pru Cormorant’s two planning periods was second hour. Skye had forty minutes to figure out how to tame Scumble River High’s own Cruella De Vil. Too bad Skye felt more like a Dalmatian puppy than the Teacher Whisperer Homer expected her to be.

After some thought, Skye decided the best way to approach Pru was unofficially, which meant she needed to run into the mulish woman by chance rather than appear to have sought her out. Unfortunately, there was one major obstacle to that scheme.

Pru had one of the nicest classrooms in the school. Not only did it have actual walls instead of folding curtains—it had windows and an exterior door. So, when the weather was pleasant, the best place to find Pru when she wasn’t teaching was right outside her room sitting in a lawn chair. This made casually bumping into her difficult.

Concentrating, Skye tried to come up with a plausible reason for being outdoors and near the English teacher’s room. A few minutes before the second bell rang, the solution came to her. She could claim to be exercising. In fact, she could credit Pru with motivating her to work out, saying that after their chat about wedding pictures in the faculty lounge last Friday, she’d had a change of heart.

Skye hated to encourage the older woman’s narrow-minded idea of beauty, but if it helped the bookstore and got the principal off her back, she was willing to do so—but only this one time. After all, a man may have to do what a man has to do, but a woman has to do what he can’t. And clearly, Homer couldn’t handle Pru.

Having decided on a plan, Skye exchanged her black pumps for the tennis shoes she kept in her bottom drawer—a good school psychologist was prepared for any occasion—tied her hair back into a ponytail, and took the bottle of water from her lunch bag. At the last minute, thinking it might add an air of authenticity to her disguise, she grabbed the stopwatch from her WISC-IV test kit and put the lanyard around her neck. She just hoped she remembered to put it back when she was finished, as it was impossible to administer the Wechsler Intelligence Scale for Children without a timer.

When Skye walked out of the building, she turned left and saw Pru in a lounge chair with a copy of
Cosmopolitan
tented over her face. Skye wondered how the teacher could consider romances porn, yet buy a magazine with a cover that contained a scantily clad woman and a promise of an article inside titled, “Six Sex Positions for the New Millennium.” Not that Skye cared what the older woman read, but it did seem a tad two-faced. Of course, being hypocritical had never bothered Pru in the past.

A snore drifted out from under the periodical, and Skye wondered how she could wake Pru without making it obvious she wanted to talk to her. Shrugging, she decided she’d have to “accidentally” run into her chair.

Backing up out of sight, Skye started to jog. As she rounded the corner, she increased her speed and banged into the lawn chair. Pru snatched the magazine from her face and gazed up at Skye, an angry expression twisting her features.

Before the older woman could yell at her, Skye said, “I’m so sorry. Enjoying some fresh air?”

“Yes, I was.” Pru’s pale blue eyes were malicious. “What are you doing out here, dear?”

“Just jogging during my morning break.”

“Really.” Pru raised a drawn-on eyebrow. “I thought you told me that you weren’t going to lose weight for your wedding pictures.”

“True.” Skye forced herself to look contrite. “But I considered what you said and decided you might be right, so I’m trying to run a couple of miles every day.”

“How energetic of you.” Pru’s tiny pointed teeth appeared in her version of a smile. “Well, all I can say is that I hope you keep it up.”

“Me, too.”

“So many young people have no follow-through these days.” Pru tucked a greasy strand of hair behind her ear. “When I was your age we were expected to stick to our decisions, not change course every five minutes.”

Skye nodded silently, a firm believer that you rarely learn anything valuable if your mouth is moving.

“Look at those two over at the bookshop.”

Eureka!
Just the subject Skye wanted to talk about. “Risé and Orlando? How are they not sticking to their plans and following through on their decisions?”

“They’re prime examples.” Pru pursed her thin lips. “I heard that they both had completely different careers before coming here and opening that store.” She
tsk
ed. “All this hopping from job to job is what’s ruining America. It used to be you stayed in your position until you retired, and it was a disgrace to get fired or quit.”

“Still”—Skye tried to steer the conversation into a more positive light—“now that you’ve seen Tales and Treats, surely you don’t still think it’s full of porn and how-to manuals on the occult, do you?”

“Maybe not,” Pru admitted. “After the unfortunate incident of her pets escaping and emptying out the store, I went back and spoke to Ms. Vaughn about my concerns.”

Skye had to bite her tongue to stop herself from blurting out, “You mean after
you
let the chinchillas loose.” Instead she asked, “And what did Risé say?”

“She assured me they wouldn’t be selling the racier romances or the darker science fiction to anyone under eighteen. And they do have that lovely café. She gave me a card for free coffees for a year to show her appreciation for my concern.”

“I guess that means you can stop gathering signatures for your petition and disband the protesters.” Skye wondered whether the complimentary beverage card was a bribe. More important, had it worked?

“Yes.” Pru thrust out her bottom lip. “Hardly anybody signed anyway,” she muttered, then brightened. “But clearly, something is wrong with that store and its owners, or there wouldn’t have been a murder, so I’m still going to keep my eye on them.”

“Being robbed is not their fault,” Skye pointed out. “That could happen to any business.”

“Not in Scumble River.” Pru shook her head. “I can’t remember the last burglary around here. I believe that everything happens for a reason. And more often than not the reason is someone’s past goof-ups. Thus, there has to be a reason that store is attracting violence. And I think it has to do with that couple’s previous life.”