Murder of a Small-Town Honey

'He's not under arrest. We just brought him in for ques­tioning.'

'At this time of night? What's he got to do with Mrs. Gumtree's murder?'

He moved closer. 'Look, I can't discuss this with you. Could you just come up here and convince May that she doesn't have to sit with Vince? Really, I'm not trying to railroad him. I just want to ask him some questions. The rest of the men have gone home.'

'Sorry, Chief, I was the one who told her to do what she's doing. His attorney should be here soon, and she'll straighten things out.'

'Well, at least tell your dad he doesn't have to wait. He keeps dozing off. I'm afraid he's going to fall off his chair.'

'Fine, I'll get Dad to go home. Don't you try anything funny with Vince.' As she climbed the stairs, Skye added over her shoulder, 'By the way, Mayor Clapp called to re­quest your services. It seems there's some dog that's keep­ing him from getting his beauty sleep, and he'd like your assistance in removing it, ASAP.'

Sitting at the dispatcher's station, Skye waited for Loretta to arrive. The chair was armless and covered in shiny green vinyl. She thought it served more to keep the dispatchers alert during the long stretches of time when nothing was happening than to make them comfortable.

Although she'd persuaded her father to go home and rest, she decided that May was the best protection Vince could have, next to a lawyer. Skye had been waiting there for over an hour, and now she expected the attorney at any minute. In the meantime, she had been instructed by May to

answer the phone. So far, that wasn't a problem. It hadn't rung.

Chief Boyd had called one of his men at home and or­dered him to take care of the mayor's dog problem. He'd been less successful in finding a substitute for May.

The Scumble River Police, Fire, and Emergency Depart­ments shared a common dispatcher. Four middle-aged women each worked thirty-two hours a week, rotating be­tween the afternoon and midnight shifts. One woman worked straight days during the week. They covered the phones and radios, as well as doing paperwork for the offi­cers. None was willing to climb out of bed at midnight and come down to the station, although all wanted to know what was wrong with May.

Despite the uncomfortable chair, Skye was starting to doze off when the buzzer on the police station door sounded and Loretta Steiner marched in. Six feet tall and well muscled, she was even more impressive than Skye re­membered. Everything about her was genuine, from her coal-black hair to her dark-brown skin.

Loretta didn't bother with preliminaries. 'Where's my client?'

Matching the lawyer's demeanor, Skye opened the door between them and motioned Loretta through. 'He's in the interrogation room at the top of the stairs. My mother and the chief of police are with him.'

'What's your mother doing there?'

'Seeing that the chief doesn't question him. She was the best protection I could think of until you got here.' Skye led her toward the stairs.

'Where's everyone else?' Loretta looked around the empty room.

'This is a small town. There's not much personnel avail­able at any one time. My mom's the dispatcher on this shift, and Chief Boyd couldn't get anyone else to come in, so I'm

answering phones. By the way, when you get up there, tell my mom to come down and take over.'

Striding past Skye and up the stairs, Loretta muttered about small towns and not liking to leave Chicago. Halfway up the stairs she turned and called down, 'Skye, they ever see a black woman lawyer here before?'

Skye smiled for the first time since her mother's phone call. 'No. There are no blacks in town, and there sure aren't any women lawyers.'

Loretta whooped. 'Well, we're going to have us a good time tonight.'

CHAPTER 9

Maybe Baby

Six o'clock Tuesday morning came too early for Skye. She had never enjoyed rising at the crack of dawn, and having had less than four hours of sleep did not improve her disposition. Her first thought when the alarm went off was to wonder if she could get away with calling in sick. After a brief consideration, she decided that doing so might be frowned upon after having worked only six days.

At almost the same moment, the idea that maybe she'd better save her personal and emergency days for Vince's trial popped into her head. She firmly shoved that thought back down into her subconscious, refusing to even contem­plate Vince's being treated as a criminal.

Sitting on the side of her bed with her head in her hands, Skye tried to gather the energy required to take the next step and get into the shower.

Abruptly the hypnotizing music coming over her clock radio was interrupted by the WCCQ weather announcer's voice. 'Well, folks, you'd better sit yourself down in a big tub of ice, because we're going to break all records for heat and humidity set on this day in history.'

Groaning, she began to search her mind for something to wear. Some of the rooms at school were air- conditioned and some were not. It depended on when that particular ad­dition had been added and how much money had been in the budget at the time.

Following a quick shower and a cup of Earl Grey tea,

she dressed in a short-sleeved empire-waist cotton-knit dress. Remembering the problem she'd had keeping up with Lloyd Stark on Thursday, Skye chose to wear white flats instead of the heels that matched the dress. She hoped the Midwest fashion police would forgive her lapse. She was undecided about panty hose, so she stuffed a pair in her white canvas tote, just in case there was some school rule about bare legs. But since her dress's hemline reached al­most to her ankles, she hoped no one would even notice. At the last instant she wove her hair into a French braid to keep it out of her face.

It was tough knowing what to wear on any given day. In the morning she might be sitting on the floor with the kindergartners, and the afternoon could find her at a meet­ing with the superintendent. Her wardrobe had to be more versatile than a one-man band playing Tchaikovsky's 7872 Overture.

The drive to Scumble River Junior High took less than five minutes, allowing Skye to be in her makeshift office by seven-thirty. With her first Pupil Personnel Services meeting not until eleven-thirty, she would have plenty of time to prepare a list for the PPS team of students who needed reevaluations or counseling.

She worked steadily until her door burst open and Ur­sula Nelson, the school secretary, flew in. 'Come on. Mr. Stark wants to see you.'

'Okay, I'll be there in a minute.' She started to put the folders she was working on back together.

Ursula's beetle-brown eyes bored into Skye. 'Mr. Stark does not like to be kept waiting.'

'I'll come to the office as soon as I've secured these files.'

Ursula turned without another word and rushed out of the room.

Skye inserted the loose papers back into the various records and placed them in the file cabinet. She then con-

scientiously pushed in the metal bolt and made sure the drawer was locked. Smoothing her hair and dress, she grabbed paper and a pen and set off for the principal's of­fice.

Lloyd was pacing in front of the doorway when she ar­rived. Without saying a word, he hurried inside, apparently expecting her to follow. Once they were both past the threshold, he shut the door. 'We have a problem.'

'Yes?'

'One of our students, Travis Idell, an eighth grader, spent the summer having parties while both his parents were at work.'

So far Skye was unimpressed. 'Yes?'

'They were pretty wild parties.' Lloyd seemed to think Skye should understand without him having to go into de­tail.

'And this is our problem in what way ...'

'The other kids were all from this school or the elemen­tary.' Lloyd clarified, 'They were mostly eleven and twelve, but some were only ten.'

Skye was starting to have a bad feeling about where this was leading. 'What did they do at these parties, get drunk?'

'I wish it were as simple as that. They did disgusting things.'