Murder of a Small-Town Honey

'Yep, said to send you in as soon as you got here.'

Skye moved toward the rear of the office and tapped on the partly open door before pushing it open farther. 'You wanted to see me?'

Lloyd did not look up from his desk. 'Right. Come in and close the door.'

She complied, the blood pounding in her ears.

After an interminable wait Lloyd finally put down his pen and looked up. 'The superintendent has asked me to let you know that the incident with the boy hosting the sex parties has been resolved per your recommendations and he thanks you for your good work.' Lloyd's mouth was pursed as if he had just bitten into a bug.

'Well, ah, thanks for telling me. I wondered what had happened with that case.' Skye waited for further direc­tions, but Lloyd picked up the phone and dialed.

She let herself out of his office and walked over to the secretary to continue her original mission. 'Ursula.'

'Yes?'

'Ah, could you ... ah ... call Zach Van Stee and send him to my office?' Skye stumbled, intimidated by the sec­retary's sharp gaze.

'What class is he in?' Ursula turned toward the inter­com controls, her finger poised over the multicolored levers.

'Ah, I don't know.' Skye cringed, expecting the worst.

Ursula jerked her head toward a table by the wall. 'Look up his schedule in the box.'

She waited impatiently while Skye fingered through the large white cards in the bin indicated. Pulling out Zach's, she looked at it blankly. 'I'm sorry, I know this is sixth pe­riod, but there are two different classes listed for him.'

'Those are the semester classes. Look at the class marked 'one.'' Ursula sighed loudly. 'Semester classes are

marked one or two to indicate which semester the student is taking them.'

'He's in Home Economics.' Then more quietly to her­self, she added, 'I hope.'

After thanking Ursula, Skye fled the office. While she waited for Zach, she set up the room for the assessment.

Today she would be administering the Wechsler Individ­ual Achievement Test. Skye routinely gave only six of the eight subtests—the ones measuring reading decoding, read­ing comprehension, spelling, paper-and-pencil math, story problems, and written language. The other two subtests measured language skills, and she felt those were better left to the speech pathologist.

Zach walked in quietly and dumped his backpack on the floor. 'Too bad you called me from Home EC. We were making cookies.'

'Oh, that is a shame. Would a Tootsie Roll Pop ease your suffering?' Skye reached into a drawer.

'It'd help some,' Zach allowed. 'What're we going to do today?'

Skye handed him the bag of suckers, and he again se­lected a chocolate one.

She then answered his question. 'I'm going to see how good you are at reading, spelling, and math. We're going to start with some story problems. Here's a piece of scratch paper and a pencil. You can use it on all the problems ex­cept the ones I tell you not to. Ready?'

Zach nodded.

'Okay, since you're in sixth grade we'll start with number eleven. Remember, it's just like last time. Some questions will be too easy for you and some will be too hard. It's all right not to know some.'

He nodded again.

'Look at the picture of the fish. Find the fourth fish from the aquarium.'

They finished the last subtest, written expression, half an

hour before the final bell. Skye had one more part of the testing to complete with Zach, the clinical interview.

'That's it for this test, Zach. Now I'd like to ask you some questions about you and how you feel about things. Then we'll be done.'

'What kinda questions?' Zach asked warily.

'Stuff like, When's your birthday?'

'That's easy. November twenty-third.' Zach grinned.

'Do you know the year?'

Things were going smoothly until Skye asked, 'If you had three wishes, what would you wish for?'

'Three more wishes,' Zach answered promptly.

'What would be the first three things you would ask for with all your wishes?' Skye attempted to pin him down.

'More wishes.'

She gave up, recognizing this as a typical preadolescent response.

With a few more questions and answers Skye finished the interview and handed him a piece of unlined paper. 'Here's a sheet of blank paper. Draw a picture of a com­plete person.'

'I'm not very good at drawing. Can it be a stick figure?'

'Make it as complete as you can. Just do the best you're able to.'

Zach turned the page several times before settling down to work. He finished the drawing moments before the final bell. Standing, he picked up his backpack. 'Will I see you again?'

Skye smiled. 'I'll be visiting your class to see how your teacher teaches you, but you won't need to come here again.'

'Oh.' Zach hovered in the doorway. 'This was sorta fun.'

'You did a good job for me. I appreciate how hard you worked.'

'Is it true that you saw that dead lady?' Zach's hand was on the knob.

'Yes,' she answered cautiously.

'Was there blood everywhere?'

She shook her head. 'No. Did you know Mrs. Gumtree?'

'Nah, but my uncle dated her in high school.' Zach looked down at his feet. 'When I told him about taking all these tests with you, he asked if you mentioned seeing any­thing when you found her.'

'Who's your uncle?'

'Mike Young.'

Before Skye could respond, a voice from the hall yelled, 'Zee, ya comin' or not?'

Zach waved and ran out the door.

Skye put the materials back in their case and began to score the various tests she had given Zach. First Lloyd and now Mike. Everyone seems really interested in what I saw.

The town of Laurel was the county seat of Stanley County. It contained the courthouse, the sheriff's office, and the jail. Skye spent the time driving there trying to fig­ure out what to say to Vince.

She pulled into a metered space at a quarter to six. Dig­ging through her wallet and tote bag, she came up with two quarters, a dime, and a nickel in change. This bought her two and a half hours. With visiting hours ending at eight she would have fifteen minutes to get from the jail to her car before it was parked illegally and ticketed or towed.

Skye wasn't sure of the proper attire for a jail visit, but knowing Vince's fastidiousness, she had worn crisply pressed khaki pants, a light-blue oxford-cloth shirt and loafers. Going for a low-key effect, she had pulled her hair back with a tortoiseshell barrette.

She didn't know where the entrance to the jail was lo­cated. Looking around, she decided the most likely direc­tion would be through the sheriff's office.

Its interior was similar to that of the police station in Scumble River. Walking in, she saw a bench to the left and a glassed-in counter to the right. Ahead was a closed steel door. There was a button on the counter, which Skye pushed.

A woman around May's age stepped up to the window, leaned forward, and spoke through the grate. 'Yes, what can I do for you?'

'I'm here to see my brother, Vince Denison.' Skye found herself somewhat embarrassed to admit that she