past them, ignoring their words, and knocked on Homer’s door. No answer. She knocked again and leaned her head against the wood. Not a sound. She tried the door. It opened easily, but no one was in the room.
Skye turned to Wally. “Did you see Homer leave this office?”
The chief shook his head. “No, but we don’t need him. Just give us the class lists, and we’ll pull the students we need to talk to.”
Skye ignored Wally and tried Opal. “Was Homer in his office when the police arrived and you left to get me?”
The secretary nodded.
“How the heck did he get out?” Skye scanned the inside of Homer’s office, and walked over to the closed drapes. Come to think of it, she had never seen them open. She stuck her hand underneath the fabric and fished for the cord. Nabbing it, she yanked. The curtains swished back to reveal not the window Skye was expecting, but a door designed to look like a window from the outside of the building.
Opal murmured, “I guess they went to lunch.”
“At ten-thirty?”
The other woman shrugged.
Skye turned to Wally. “You’ll have to wait for them to get back. Opal and I don’t have the authority to let you have the list or interview students.”
Wally’s face was rigid. “We don’t need your permission.”
Skye didn’t know what the law said, but she knew what parent reaction would be if they allowed Wally free rein. “Sorry, but if you insist, we’ll advise students not to talk to you until we can reach their parents.”
“You’re out of line.” Wally sighed. “I understand you want to protect your kids, but the longer we wait, the colder the trail gets.”
What he had just said finally sank through to Skye. “Are you saying she was murdered?”
Skye screamed. It felt good, so she did it again. One more time, she decided, and then she could face returning to the chaos inside the high school. She had borrowed Trixie’s car keys and locked herself in the Mustang in order to blow off some steam and refrain from hitting someone.
The question wasn’t whom to smack, but whom to smack first? The coach/guidance counselor, who hated sharing a room with Skye and kept trying to sneak into the guidance office and force Skye out? The insufferable coordinator from the co-op, who had finally dropped by but still refused to interact with any of the students, and instead had locked himself in with Homer, then had had the nerve to go out to lunch? Or Wally, who continued to try to freeze Skye with his indifference every time they were in the same room together?
Reluctantly, Skye emerged from the small car. The dark interior had been soothing, almost like being inside a mug of hot cocoa. Too bad a cup of Swiss Miss wasn’t inside of her; she could use a shot of chocolate comfort right now. As she entered the school, she could hear sounds of male bonding—guffaws, chuckles, and snickers—coming from behind the principal’s closed door. She looked at her watch—nearly noon. Obviously the co-op coordinator and Homer had returned from their early luncheon.
All the buttons on the telephone were lit, and as fast as Opal answered one, another line would light up. Her part of the conversations consisted of, “Sorry, we can’t give out that information.” Then she paused as the person on the other end yelled at her. She finished with, “I’m really sorry, but I’m not allowed to say.”
The secretary’s sparse mouse-colored hair stood on end, and her watery brown eyes were red-rimmed from the tears she kept dabbing away with a shredded tissue. Obviously the woman was overwhelmed by the volume and vituperativeness of the calls.
Skye stared at Homer’s closed door. Opal was nearing a breakdown, and the principal needed to do something about it. A sudden wave of male laughter helped Skye make up her mind. With some principals she used reason to achieve what she wanted. With others she used diplomacy. Homer reacted only to frontal attacks.
She knocked sharply on the door and entered without waiting for permission. “Homer, the phones are ringing off the wall. Opal needs someone to help her with all the calls.”
The jovial expression on the principal’s face changed to one of annoyance. “What do you want me to do about it? You’ve confiscated all my personnel.”
Skye counted to ten and reminded herself of Homer’s age and position before she replied. “Two, I’m only using two of your people.”
“Sure, but how about all the teachers who are too upset to teach their classes?” Homer’s tone was sarcastic.
“I did suggest hiring some floating subs for today,” she reminded him, keeping hold of her temper with great difficulty.
“It’s not in the budget.” Homer sat back in his chair and shook the hair out of his eyes. “Did you know the co-op is going to charge us for the people they sent over? You didn’t have authorization to request help. We may have to take that from your salary.”
Skye opened her mouth and closed it without speaking. She glanced at the silent coordinator. She could swear he had a smirk on his face. Between gritted teeth she muttered, “Fine. Now, about some help for Opal . . .”
Homer sighed. “Who did you have in mind?”
“Coach,” Skye answered. “It’s his guidance counselor day, and since he has refused to do any crisis counseling, and the guidance office is occupied, he’s just sitting around in the teachers’ lounge stirring up the faculty.”
“He won’t like this,” Homer said.
“Really? And I’m having such a good time today myself.” Skye knew she shouldn’t be so sarcastic, but it had just slipped out, and she couldn’t back down now.
“Okay, Coach can answer phones.” Homer leaned back in his chair. “You stop and tell him on your way back to the guidance office.”
“I think it would be better coming from you.” Skye pushed the phone toward Homer. “For some reason, Coach thinks I’m out to get him.”
As Homer dialed and spoke, Skye smiled. She loved a twofer—help for Opal and a way to keep Coach out of the guidance office.
After the principal got off the phone, Skye said, “Did you know that the police were here and tried to question the students?”
“No, that must have been when we were . . . ah . . . at that special meeting we had to attend.”
“Right.”
“I’ll check with the school lawyer and see.” Homer reached for the phone he had just pushed aside. He spoke for a while, and after he hung up, he said, “Nope, Bob says not to let the police question the students. The law is unclear, but we could be in trouble if the parents could prove we were negligent in protecting their child’s rights. Either school personnel or a parent must be with the child when he or she is interviewed.”
“Better let people know because Wally will no doubt return any minute.” Skye waved and backed out of the door. Without warning, she felt icy fingers grab her arm. She yelped and spun around.
Kent Walker’s pale blue eyes stared into hers.
“Oh my gosh, Kent, you scared me to death.” She shook off his arm. “What’s wrong?”
“Are you aware that the police chief is interrogating some of the students right here in school? I tried to sit in with the kids as he questioned them, but one of his storm troopers threw me out.”
One thing she had liked about Kent was his high level of involvement with the students. So why didn’t what he had just said sound right? She didn’t have time to think about it now. “Show me where they are.”
Kent guided her down the hall to the Home Ec room. The space was divided into two. The half nearest the door was filled with sewing machines, several teens, all of whom avoided looking at each other, and the police officers who were guarding them.
The other half of the room was set up as the cooking area, and Wally had confiscated this section for his interviews. The heavy stoves and refrigerators that formed a wall between the two areas filtered out most of the conversation.
Skye marched through the sewing area before the police could stop her. The officers were quicker where
