Murder of a Small-Town Honey (6 page)

“We don’t need a social worker to do a social history. What we’ve done in the past is have the nurse address the medical segments and the psychologist deal with the adaptive behavior, family structure, and so forth.”

Skye frowned, thinking,
I will definitely have to take a look at the Illinois rules and regulations to see if this is legal. I’d also better check with the Illinois School Psychologists Association as to whether it’s ethical. And, if it is, I’d better brush up on taking social histories really soon.

Lloyd was looking at Skye as if he expected to be praised for his resourcefulness. “Oh, how clever,” she said. “Maybe we can talk more about this later.”

Without warning Lloyd changed the subject. “You were the one who found that body yesterday, right?”

Nodding, Skye sat straighter, wondering where this was leading.

“It must have been extremely frightening. You probably didn’t have a chance to notice much . . .” Lloyd’s voice trailed off, encouraging her to fill in the details.

She knew he wanted something, but she couldn’t imagine what. “No, I was in and out in a couple of minutes. Why do you ask?”

“No reason. Just curious. I didn’t even know the woman, for heaven’s sake.”

“Oh, you sounded like maybe you had a specific question in mind.”

He stood abruptly and walked to the door without commenting. “Why don’t I take you to meet some of the team?”

He was halfway through the main office before Skye could gather her belongings and follow him. Keeping an eye on his retreating figure, she hurried after him. Lloyd was of medium height and build, but he moved as if his legs were as long as a basketball player’s. Skye didn’t catch up until he was already most of the way down the central hall.

Skye was wearing the coolest professional clothes she owned, a short-sleeved lilac linen shirtdress with matching high-heeled pumps. Midwestern style valued matching accessories, but after trying, without success, to keep up with Lloyd’s quick pace on the highly polished and slippery linoleum, she immediately resolved to buy lower-heeled shoes—no matter what the color.

She rounded a corner in time to see Lloyd enter a classroom near the back of the building. Judging from its location, she knew without asking that it was the special education room. Such classrooms were usually as far away from the front door as the structure of the school allowed.

Upon entering, Skye spotted Lloyd with a woman in her thirties. She was much taller than average and cadaverously thin. When she held out her hand for Skye to shake, her nails were bitten so short they looked raw. Her grip was listless.

The room was painted bile-green and held only a blackboard, a teacher’s desk, and twelve student work stations, the type where the chair and table area are welded together. It was obvious that they had interrupted the teacher as she was attempting to liven up the room by putting various posters and pictures on the walls.

Lloyd introduced them. “Darleen, this is our new psychologist, Skye Denison. Skye, this is our special education teacher, Darleen Boyd. She’s married to the police chief.”

Skye checked Darleen’s reaction to Lloyd’s having gratuitously announced her husband’s occupation. Even by Scumble River standards his remark had been a bit sexist. Darleen remained impassive. Her short baby-doll dress revealed twiglike arms and legs. No one spoke.

Searching for something polite to say, Skye settled at last on, “How nice. My mom works as a police dispatcher.”

Before Darleen could reply, Lloyd broke in. “Where are your assistants?”

“They’re with the kids in their mainstream classes. Remember, last year the PPS team decided to put the aides in regular classes to help the special ed kids?” She nervously smoothed her hair, which was a dull brown and cut as if a bowl had been placed on her head for a pattern.

“How about the nurse and the speech therapist? Surely they’re not in the classrooms too? They should be around.” Lloyd scanned the room as if the people he sought might be hiding behind the desks.

“Abby’s in the health room, but I haven’t seen Belle. She’s probably at the elementary school.” Darleen studied the poster she had just hung on the wall, not meeting Lloyd’s eyes.

Turning to Skye, Lloyd asked in an affronted tone, “Did you meet Belle Whitney, the speech and language therapist, at the elementary school when you were there earlier?”

“Why, no, I spoke with the principal on Thursday, and she gave me a list of meetings. She ran out of time before she had a chance to show me around the school or introduce any of the faculty or staff.”

Lloyd nodded in satisfaction. “Let’s press on, then. At least I can introduce you to the nurse.”

“Could you show me where my office is, too?”

“It’s on the way.” A line appeared between Lloyd’s eyebrows.

Skye moved closer to Darleen. “It was nice meeting you. Would it be convenient for me to come back this afternoon so we could discuss your program and how my services might fit in with it?”

Looking uneasily at Lloyd, Darleen’s hazel eyes bulged alarmingly. “Sure. I’ll be here until four. We can talk then. We don’t want to keep Mr. Stark waiting.”

As Skye followed Lloyd back toward the front of the school, she pondered Darleen’s attitude. She appeared much more subservient, even fearful, than other special education teachers Skye had met.

Skye was convinced that the room Lloyd indicated as her office had started life as a janitor’s closet. Its windowless walls were painted an egg-yolk yellow, and the smell of ammonia made her sneeze when she pushed open the door. A battered desk and a single metal folding chair crowded the small room.

Turning to Lloyd, who was hovering outside the doorway, Skye said, “I don’t see any secure area for confidential files. I’ll need a locking file cabinet.”

He scowled. “I suppose you’ll have a whole list of things you absolutely have to have. Just remember we aren’t a rich district like the one you came from.”

Nodding, Skye said, “I understand, but I do need a place where files can be kept locked up.” She aimed the next suggestion at his ego. “Maybe we could put them in your office. Of course, I’ll need a key.”

“My office is not a storage facility. I’ll make sure you get a cabinet.” Lloyd took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped away the sweat that had suddenly appeared on his brow.

 

The health room was located beside the main office, but with a separate entrance. It was very small, with just enough room for a brown vinyl cot, a locked cabinet, a desk, and a chair.

Lloyd was standing in the doorway tapping his foot when Skye caught up to him. He moved to one side and gestured for her to go in. “Abby, this is Skye Denison, our new school psychologist. Skye, this is Abby Fleming, our district’s school nurse.”

With that statement Lloyd walked away, saying over his shoulder, “You two talk, I’ll see you both at the PPS meeting tomorrow.”

“Wait—we haven’t even discussed my duties yet.” Before Skye could follow, Lloyd closed his office door.

His voice came from behind the glass panel. “Talk to my secretary. She’ll give you a schedule. I’ll be busy the rest of the day.”

Skye stared after him as if she were waking from a nightmare, and then turned to Abby, hoping for a friendly reaction. “Tell me this is unusual for him. He’s under a lot of pressure, right?”

Abby looked Skye over before indicating that she should take a seat on the cot. “No, I’m afraid he’s always like that.”

Skye examined Abby carefully. She was everything Skye would like to be—five feet ten and built like an athlete. Her white skirt showed off her tanned, muscular legs to advantage and was paired with a tucked-in navy polo shirt and spotless white tennis shoes. More striking than pretty, she was the kind of woman who would fit in better at a health club than a cocktail party. Skye knew her brother had been going out with Abby, and now she understood why—Vince always had been attracted to physical perfection.

As silence once again threatened to engulf her, Skye wondered if everyone in this school was the quiet type. Scrambling for a topic of conversation, she searched the bare walls for inspiration. Finding none, she remarked, “So, you’re dating my brother?”

Hearing no response, Skye leaned forward. “Vince, Vince Denison is my brother.”

“Yes, I know.” Abby tucked a strand of long white-blond hair behind her tortoiseshell headband.

Rearranging her skirt and smoothing her own hair, Skye waited for Abby to continue. When she didn’t speak, and gave no indication that she intended to, Skye scooted toward the end of the cot. “Have you worked here long?”

Abby nodded. Set against the fairness of her brows and lashes, her large aquamarine eyes dominated her face.

Smiling her encouragement, Skye waited, although Abby’s persistent silence was beginning to get on her nerves. Abby did not look up; instead she began filing her nails.

Skye waited a while longer, then stood up. “It is obvious to me, that despite Lloyd’s suggestion that we
talk,
that we have very little to say to each other. I think it would be best if I left you to your busy schedule.” At this Skye stared significantly at the empty desktop.

She paused with her hand on the knob. “Sorry to have taken up so much of your time.”

Abruptly, Abby burst out laughing. Skye was sure this was going to be her first nutcase at her new job and was frantically trying to recall how to react to hysteria.

Before Skye could act, Abby regained her composure. “Boy, Vince really has you pegged.”

“Pardon me?” Skye responded stiffly.

“Chill. Sit back down. Relax. Vince told me nothing would drive you crazier than for me not to talk to you.” Abby got up and tried to take Skye by the arm.

“What?” She shook off Abby’s hand.

“Vince said that ever since you were children everyone has always confided in you. He claimed even strangers come up and spill their guts.”

“So?”

“When he asked me to test out his theory, I figured, What the heck? What would you do if I didn’t respond as you’re used to having people respond? If someone you were expecting to be friendly wasn’t? Vince knew you’d either get angry or cry. He thought you’d get angry; I voted for cry.”

“You’re telling me you were willing to make me cry just to test out my brother’s silly theory? That’s a pretty sadistic thing to do to someone you don’t even know. I’ve always suspected that nurses enjoyed giving those painful injections.” Skye held her temper with great difficulty.

Abby patted Skye’s knee. “You’re right, of course. It was a mean joke, and I apologize. I guess I wasn’t thinking about it from your point of view. I’m not very good about putting myself in other people’s shoes. But do you realize how hard it is on Vince, being the brother of Miss Perfect?”

“Now what are you talking about?” Skye’s head was beginning to ache.

“Don’t be modest. You were a straight-A student, never got into any trouble. You not only went to college but also to graduate school, not to mention your noble sacrifice when you joined the Peace Corps. Let’s face it—you are everyone’s darling, and now you’ve moved back home. How would you like to be the older, less successful sibling?”

Skye shook her head. It felt odd to be described as successful. True, she had done well at the University of Illinois—only a hundred miles away from Scumble River, but light-years from it in terms of lifestyle.

But her stint in the Peace Corps was not the noble sacrifice that Abby described. Instead it had been a place to hide when she couldn’t face coming home to Scumble River and found there were no jobs for someone with a bachelor’s degree in psychology. And graduate school had been two years of being made to feel never quite good enough.

This was followed by a year of internship—something akin to being an indentured servant. Not to mention being fired from her first job for insubordination and being jilted shortly afterward by a fiancé who was more in love with his own social standing than with her.

“My brother thinks of himself as unsuccessful?” Skye allowed herself to be led back to the cot. “I had no idea. I’m sure a great psychologist,” she said sarcastically. “I don’t even know what my own brother is thinking.”

“Vince is hard to read. He turns on the charm if he thinks you’re getting too close. Besides, how often have you seen him since you moved away?”

“You’re right. A lot of things seem to have changed in the twelve years I’ve been gone. Maybe it’s a good thing I came back after all.”

Suspicious Minds

Later that afternoon, the door to Skye’s office banged open and Lloyd entered the room. “Well, you certainly have managed to make yourself comfortable. I suppose you’ll want a couch and your own coffee machine next.” He examined the desk, chair, and file cabinet closely. “None of our other psychologists had an office to themselves. They took whatever room wasn’t in use when they stopped by.”

Skye bit her tongue, counted to twenty, and breathed deeply—all the while trying to refrain from explaining that perhaps that was one of the reasons they had such trouble keeping support staff, such as social workers and psychologists.

Instead she made herself smile. “Yes, I want to thank you for all your help. The other schools seemed unable to assist me.” She was very proud of herself when no trace of sarcasm leaked out.

Lloyd puffed out his chest. “I’m the one to see in this district if you need something. Those other two principals don’t have the influence I have. The superintendent and I are fishing buddies, you know.” He completely disregarded the fact that he had done nothing. The secretaries had arranged everything.

Once Lloyd left, Skye spent some time organizing the confidential special education files she had found. The search had turned out to be more like a scavenger hunt than the simple task she was expecting. After being directed to at least ten different locations, she finally located the folders in the basement next to the cleaning supplies. They were moist and smelled like a mixture of mold, pine scent, and lemon.