“That girl’s period of mourning is about as short as her skirt.”
Skye didn’t want to argue, so instead she changed the subject. “Have you talked to Elvira Doozier yet?”
“She’s not at school today. I sent someone out to her house.”
“I hope she’s okay.”
“The Dooziers just don’t like talking to the police.”
“Too bad she’s not here today. I’d like to be with her when you question her.”
Wally slumped in his chair. “I suppose you plan on sitting here for all the interviews?”
“Until their parents arrive.”
“You called the parents? That was a mistake.”
“I told you if you tried to see the kids alone, we had to contact the parents.”
Wally shook his head. Before he could speak, the PA system crackled. “Ms. Denison, line one.”
Now what? Skye shot out of her seat and hurried toward the office. They would never page her for a phone call if it weren’t extremely urgent. Most of the time, she was lucky to get a message slip stuck in her mailbox.
She rounded the corner and grabbed the receiver. “Skye Denison, may I help you?”
“Skye, it’s Caroline Greer. Thank goodness I found you. We need you right away.”
“What’s up?” Skye couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard the elementary-school principal so shaken up. Caroline Greer was famous for her calm demeanor.
“Linette Ingels.”
“No, but she was on the phone last night with her friends. They’re all upset, and the hysteria is spreading through the school faster than lice.” Caroline’s tone showed her strain. “How soon can you get here?”
Caroline was a great principal. If she said she needed help, things must be really bad. Skye looked at the clock. It was a little past twelve-thirty. The kids must have just gotten in from lunch recess. “I’ll be right over. Just let me tie up some loose ends.” Skye could hear excited voices in the background.
“Hurry.”
The line went dead in Skye’s hand. Opal was still busy answering phones. Through the open door to the health room, Skye could see the coach with a receiver in one hand and an aggrieved expression on his face as he grunted into the mouthpiece. It made her whole day to see that man actually work.
Homer was still with the co-op coordinator when Skye entered his office. She explained the situation at the grade school and suggested that the principal sit in on the rest of the chief’s interviews with their students.
As Skye talked, the coordinator stood and picked up his briefcase. “Well, Homer,” he said, “looks like things here are under control. I’ve got to get going.”
“Since you’re leaving, could you drop me at the elementary school on your way?” Skye asked.
A look of annoyance crossed the man’s face. “Are you ready to leave now? I’ve got an important meeting at one.”
“Just let me grab my purse. I’ll meet you in the parking lot. What kind of car do you drive?”
“A red Corvette.”
Somehow his answer didn’t surprise her.
After a brief stop in the grade school’s office, Skye went directly to Linette Ingels’s fifth-grade classroom. The teacher and principal were each surrounded by several students. Other kids were wandering around the room. The children were talking excitedly in loud, high-pitched voices.
Skye whispered in the principal’s ear, “Shall I take over?”
Caroline nodded, and eased out of the grasp of several girls. The teacher took the signal and followed suit.
Skye raised her voice. “Hi, I’m Ms. Denison, and I work at this school. One of my jobs is to help kids who are feeling bad. Anybody here feeling sort of bad or sad?” She knew she had to build some rapport with this age level before talking directly about Lorelei’s death.
Two-thirds of the students raised their hands, as did their teacher, who smiled wearily.
“Okay. Let’s sit on the carpet in a circle.” Skye eased onto the floor. “I know many of you talked to Linette last night. A lot of times when something happens that makes us feel sad, it helps to talk to other people about it. I’ll bet that’s why Linette called you.”
A girl with long red curls bounced up onto her knees. “Linette said her sister died, but we don’t believe it.”
Skye saw several nodding heads. Good. The little girl had given her the opening she needed to talk about Lorelei’s death. “Why don’t you believe Linette?”
“She tells stories,” the redhead answered.
“I see.” Skye tucked that info away for later examination. “Well, I’m sorry to say she’s telling the truth this time. Lorelei did die yesterday.”
A timid voice asked, “At school?”
“Yes, but that is very unusual. You don’t have to worry about that happening to you, or anyone else you know.” Skye said a silent prayer that she was telling the truth.
The kids fell quiet.
“How many of you knew Lorelei?” Skye asked.
More hands than she expected were raised.
“Wow. Did you meet her playing at Linette’s?”
A boy in the back answered, “Nah, she came to class one day, and showed us her crown and junk when she got to be Miss Stanley County. She looked like a princess in a fairy tale.”
One of the girls chimed in, “Linette is going to win that same pageant sometime. She’s already won two more than Lorelei did at her age.”
Skye decided to walk the mile or so back to the high school rather than waste time looking for a ride. It was a clear day, and the temperature had finally broken out of the forties. Birds twittered from telephone wires, and the slight breeze smelled of spring. She barely noticed either the buds on the trees or the cracks on the sidewalk. Her mind kept turning over everything she had heard that morning.
It bothered her that no one seemed to be very sad about Lorelei’s death. People were upset, but more about the passing of an eighteen-year-old in general than Lorelei specifically. She seemed almost more of a symbol than a person.
Skye glanced at her watch; the day was getting away from her. She still had to find the girl from this morning who said she hated Lorelei. The girl needed to be turned over to the police, but Skye wanted a chance to talk to her first. She also wanted to touch base with Justin. Being present when a body was discovered couldn’t be good for that boy’s fragile mental health.
About a block from the school, Skye heard yelling and screaming. As she got nearer, she saw police cruisers with their lights on and civilian cars parked everywhere—even in the sacred bus lane.
Skye edged her way up the steps through a mob of people. Stanley County deputies guarded the doors.
She tried to step around them and was told, “You can’t go in there, Miss.”
“I work here. I’m the school psychologist.”
“Do you have any ID?”
“Nothing that shows I work here.”
“No faculty card?”
“I wasn’t in this building the day they took the pictures.” Skye was feeling desperate. “I’m assigned to all the Scumble River schools. Just step inside and ask the principal.”
“Sorry. We can’t leave the door.”
Skye fumbled in her purse and found her Illinois School Psychologists Association membership card, her National Association of School Psychologists membership card, and her Nationally Certified School Psychologist card. She pressed these into the officer’s hand.
After studying them closely, he said, “Okay, you can go in.”
She always knew that belonging to ISPA, NASP, and NCSP was important, although this wasn’t what she’d
