Murder of a Sweet Old Lady (11 page)

“I see. So I’m covered with you guys as long as I don’t actually need anything.” Skye hung up the phone.

She looked around the police station. Its walls were painted a gray semigloss. Probably so they would wash down easily. The table where she sat was rectangular with a peeling wood-grained plastic top. Not exactly fancy, but imparting a certain comfort.

Skye was reluctant to make the next call, but she knew it would be better to break the news herself than let the grapevine get first crack at it.

Finally, she raised the receiver and punched in the seven digits that were as familiar as her Social Security number. “Hi, Mom, it’s Skye.”

May was quiet when Skye told her about the windows, distressed when she heard that the farmhouse had been searched, and sobbing when she was told about Mrs. Jankowski. She ordered Skye home immediately.

“But, Mom, I’ve got to go back to the cottage to pick up some clothes and toiletries.” She hesitated. “And, you do realize, I’ll have to bring Bingo with me.”

“Can’t you leave the cat there? It’ll be okay overnight.” The distaste sounded thick in May’s throat.

“There’s glass all over. He could cut himself. It’s either both of us or neither. Maybe it’d be better if I got a cabin at Uncle Charlie’s motor court.”

May sighed. “No. No. I guess you can bring that animal here. Your dad will meet you at your place in fifteen minutes.”

“Dad doesn’t need to come. Quirk is checking it out.”

May went on as if she hadn’t heard Skye. “Don’t go in without him.”

“Look, it’s silly to bother Dad. I’ll be at your house in twenty minutes, tops.”

“Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” May’s voice thickened with tears. “Wait for your father. Just this once, do it my way.”

“Yes, Mom.”

 

When Skye got back to her car, she found Bingo standing with his front paws on the window ledge, peering into the darkness. Gently moving him over so she could slide in, Skye felt his sides vibrating in happy purrs. As soon as she was settled, he tried to climb onto her lap.

Shifting him to the passenger seat, Skye put the car in gear and drove off.When they arrived at the cottage, Quirk was gone and Jed hadn’t yet shown up.

Skye stroked the cat’s lush black fur and let her thoughts tumble through her mind like clothes in a dryer. She had forgotten to telephone Simon again. When he heard everything that had happened he was going to be ticked that she hadn’t called him for help.

Maybe she could go inside and call him right then, before her father arrived. Skye looked at the door. It was nearly eight and shadows were forming everywhere.

Before she could get out of the car, her father braked his old blue pickup next to her and walked toward the entrance cradling a shotgun. “Stay in back of me.” Jed was not one for idle chitchat.

Skye trailed a few steps behind her dad, feeling like a child. She shouldn’t have waited for him. The police had checked out the house and it was safe. She should be doing this by herself.

Jed held out his hand for the keys. Skye rummaged through the inside zippered section of her purse for the spare set since she had given Officer Quirk the ones she normally carried on her ring. Jed tapped his foot impatiently.

After he opened the door, Jed whispered, “Wait here until I check things out.”

“Officer Quirk was already through the place once,” Skye whispered back. “Let’s just go in, I’ll pack, and we can get out of here.”

“After I take a look.” He gave her a stern look. “Stay.”

Skye was leaning against the railing, thinking that if he spoke to his dog, Chocolate, the way he had just spoken to her, maybe he could finally train the animal. Then she heard gunshots.

Without thinking she rocketed through the door, slamming into her father in the foyer as he charged out of the living room. Both of them stumbled back. Jed sat abruptly on the hall bench and Skye fell sprawled to the wooden floor. Without speaking, Jed struggled to his feet, grabbed Skye by the back of the collar, and dragged her out the door. She felt like a crab walking backwards.

Outside, he continued to pull her behind him, not stopping until they were in his truck with the doors locked.

Skye gasped for breath. “What happened?”

“Saw someone in your front room. Came toward me and I shot ’em.” Jed snatched the mike from his CB and put in a call to the police.

“But I heard more shots. Did they shoot back?” Skye looked anxiously at her father.

“Yup. That’s when I hightailed it out of there.” Jed took a red hanky from his pocket and wiped the sweat off his face.

Only a minute or two passed before Quirk’s squad car squealed into the driveway, lights flashing and siren screaming.

Quirk and a man dressed as a sheriff’s deputy jumped out of the cruiser, conferred briefly with Jed, then approached the cottage. Skye watched them split up, the deputy going toward the back. Quirk peeked into windows and crept around corners.

He finally entered the house after shouting, “Police!”

Moments later, Quirk and the deputy emerged holding something that glinted in the headlights.

“Mr. Denison, I believe this is what you saw.” Quirk motioned to the deputy and they held the object up between them.

It had once been a bouquet of giant Mylar balloons. The brightly colored spheres now dangled, deflated and full of holes, from the small sack of sand designed to keep them from floating to the ceiling.

Skye’s brows met over her nose. “How did that get inside my house?”

Quirk looked uncomfortable. “It was delivered when I was here looking at your window damage. I let the guy put it in the living room. He set the arrangement on the floor since it was so big. The balloons floated about five feet from the ground.”

“The sound of the balloons popping when Dad shot them must have been what we thought was someone returning fire,” Skye offered. The men nodded. “What he thought was a person coming at him was probably the balloons swaying forward in a breeze from the broken windows.”

The deputy rocked on his heels. “Yup. It could have happened that way.”

They stood in silence until Skye said, “I wonder who the balloons were from. Was there a card?”

Shrugging, Quirk rested his hand on his gun. “I didn’t see one.”

“I’ll check with Simon. They were probably from him.” Skye turned to Quirk. “Is it okay to go in now? I need to pack a few things. I’m going to stay with my parents until the windows are fixed.”

The men communed silently. Finally, Quirk spoke. “I think the chief would be less likely to chew my butt off if I escorted you. Try to make it quick, all right?”

 

Skye readjusted the strap of her canvas briefcase over her shoulder as she climbed the steep steps to the high school’s front entrance. Her head ached from lack of sleep after having stared at the ceiling all night, trying to figure out who hated her enough to slash her tires and break her windows.

She fought waves of nausea and a headache caused by a breakfast too large, a morning too hot, and a firing squad waiting for her behind the glass doors.

May had insisted Skye eat every bite of the many dishes she had prepared. Being accustomed to only tea and toast in the morning, Skye felt as force-fed as a calf about to become veal.

Once again Skye had tried to take a day off by using a personal day, but this time she’d been told the superintendent wanted to see her at nine sharp. A parent had made a complaint against her.

Nervously clearing her throat, Skye made eye contact with the superintendent’s secretary, a tall, voluptuous woman in her late forties with wavy red hair floating over her shoulders. Everyone insisted that she was having an affair with her boss, but no one could prove it.

Skye tried smiling. “Hi, Karolyn. I understand Dr. Wraige wants to see me.”

Karolyn arched a perfectly plucked eyebrow and made a show of flipping the pages in her appointment book. “Yes, I see you’re down for nine.” She looked up at the clock and tsked. “You’re a few minutes early and he’s on the phone.”

Having not been offered a seat, Skye stood off to one side watching the minutes tick by. The outer office was old-fashioned, with dark wood paneling and matching furnishings. The computer terminal on the back wall looked out of place.

She was about to ask to use the adjoining rest room when the phone buzzed and Karolyn rose from her desk. She unlatched the waist-high gate and allowed Skye into the inner office. Knocking once, Karolyn opened the door slightly and stood back.

As soon as Skye squeezed her way through, the door was pulled shut. The superintendent sat in a huge leather chair behind a massive walnut desk. Matching onyx in-box, pencil cup, and blotter were the only items on its smudgeless glass top.

He gestured for Skye to take a seat in one of the wing chairs facing him.

Dr. Wraige laced his fingers across his chest and stared through watery blue eyes. His gray hair, swept back in a pompadour, was the exact shade of his suit and skin. After a few moments of intimidating silence, he spoke. “Miss Denison, we seem to have a little problem.”

“Oh?” Skye knew how to play the waiting game, even if she didn’t enjoy it.

He drummed his fingers on his stomach. “It seems that one of your recent decisions has caused an upset for some parents.”

Her mind raced.
Which ones? The Yoders, Mr. Doozier, the Underwoods? I can’t let on there is more than one.
“I see. What exactly is the problem?”

“Don’t play coy with me. It’s Mayor Clapp’s son.” The superintendent leaned forward. “He was not happy with the results of your evaluation.”

“Why?” Skye was truly confused.

This had been a strange case all along. Cray Clapp was a senior with good grades and a top five-percent ranking in his class. When Skye had first received the referral, she had turned it down since the boy did not seem to have any characteristics that would suggest a learning disability. His IQ and achievement seemed to match, and if he had any processing problems, they weren’t interfering with his learning.

The high school principal, Homer Knapik, had ordered her to do the assessment regardless. So, she had wasted three hours of her time and the student’s. And as she’d suspected, he’d shown no sign of having a learning disability.

Dr. Wraige squirmed. “Perhaps you’re not aware of Cray’s score on the ACT.”

“No, I can’t say that I am.” Skye looked puzzled. “That’s not the type of testing I do.”

“I’m cognizant of that.” He scowled. “But you do know that to gain admittance to a top university one has to have the grades, the class rank, and a top ACT score.”

“Yes. Last time I checked, a school such as the University of Illinois required anywhere from a twenty-seven to twenty-nine to be accepted by their various colleges.”

“Correct. Cray scored a twenty-four.” Dr. Wraige’s eyes bored into hers.

Skye frowned. “I’m sorry to be so dense, but what does that have to do with me?”

He sat back in his chair and spoke slowly, as if to someone who was not very bright. “If Cray is certified as having a handicapping condition, such as a learning disability, he is allowed certain modifications when taking the ACT. These can include more time, calculators, dictionaries . . . Need I go on?”

“No. I understand.” She sagged. “You want me to lie so the mayor’s son can get a score he doesn’t deserve.”

Dr. Wraige scowled. “That statement was impertinent.”

She didn’t speak.

“Look, you and I both know that psychological testing is not always as precise as we would like to think.” He oozed sincerity. “Isn’t it possible that you could have overlooked something in your evaluation of Cray Clapp?”

Reluctantly, she nodded. “It’s not like a blood test. There is a lot that affects the assessment.”

“Exactly. All I’m asking is that you take another look at your results and see if there’s anything you might have missed.” He opened his drawer and withdrew a sheaf of papers, which he handed to her. “I called Springfield and got this information on students who have both a gifted-level IQ and a learning disability. Maybe they’ll point you in a different direction.”

“How did you get the state to respond so quickly? It takes them months when I request information.” Skye flipped through the pages in her lap.

“Friends in the right places.” He smiled insincerely. “You know. You do me a favor, then I owe you one. It’s how the big boys play.”

Little Boy Blue, Go Blow Your Horn

Skye had worked the rest of the day at the elementary school finishing up odds and ends. Now she sat in her borrowed Buick and considered her life. She couldn’t go to her cottage. She had called around and the fastest anyone would agree to come and fix the windows was in two weeks.

She still hadn’t gotten the insurance check so she couldn’t afford to buy a car. And now it looked like she might lose her job.

The superintendent’s wanting her to change her test results was so similar to the situation that had gotten her fired from her last school that she wondered if she had missed the day in graduate school when the professor told the class it was okay to falsify records if it meant keeping your job. In both cases her superior wanted her to lie in order to appease someone with power and money.

In New Orleans, the coordinator of special education had ordered her to withdraw her allegation of child abuse. Skye had refused to retract her report, even after the little girl was pressured into saying she had made the whole event up.

Could she go through that again? If she got fired this time, she’d never find another job as a school psychologist. Skye’s thoughts grew darker and she sank farther down in the seat, her chin resting on her chest. All those years of education would go down the tubes and she’d be left with nothing but her student loans to repay.