It was time to head home before another crisis was dropped in her lap. Her purse was still in the guidance room. She had taken only one step in that direction when a booming voice asked, “Is that you, Skye, honey?”
It was Charlie standing in Homer’s doorway. She turned and walked back. “Hi, Uncle Charlie. What’s up?”
Homer was sitting at his desk, his head in his hands. After giving her a kiss on the cheek, Charlie guided Skye to a chair and sat opposite her. “Homer was telling me how he handled the parent situation today. That was quick thinking.”
Skye skewered Homer with a look he didn’t see. “Did everything work out all right with the buses?”
Without lifting his head, Homer talked to his desktop. “Yes, all the cars were moved, and most of the parents left.”
“Good.”
Homer stole a peek at Charlie. “Skye was a big help.”
“I’m sure she was. I know she always is to me.” Charlie stared at Homer. “So, what’s the plan for tomorrow?”
Homer grabbed a file and flipped frantically through its contents. “Well . . . ah . . . things will probably be pretty much back to normal tomorrow. Don’t you think?”
Charlie looked at Skye. “What’s your guess?”
“Until we know for sure what happened to Lorelei, and the police release her body so there can be a funeral, I doubt things will be back to normal.”
“Any idea what we should do?” Charlie asked.
Skye struggled to concentrate and formulate a thoughtful answer. “We need to know where the police are on this. Are they ready to say officially she was murdered? The chief won’t say, but his actions sure point to it. I don’t think he’ll share much information with me this time.”
Charlie took a small spiral notebook and a stubby pencil from the pocket of his white shirt. “I’ll talk to Wally and get back to you before school starts tomorrow.”
“Also, I have a list of about twenty kids who should be talked to again tomorrow, to make sure they’re okay. Can we get one of the co-op social workers back?” Skye’s gaze bounced between Charlie and Homer.
“No.”
“Sure.”
The men’s voices overlapped each other.
“Charlie, we have to pay extra for them,” Homer whined. “We don’t have the budget.”
“Take it out of the fund for administration’s raises if you can’t find the money anywhere else.” Charlie turned back to Skye. “Anything else, sweetheart?”
She tapped the arm of the chair. “One more thing. We ought to be ready for another onslaught of parents.”
“How can we prepare for that?” Homer asked.
“Well, we could call an informational meeting ourselves. Tell them what we know, answer their questions, maybe even persuade Chief Boyd to speak.”
Charlie jumped up. “That’s a good idea. Let’s call it for first thing in the morning. I’ll get the PTO to put the announcement over their phone tree.”
The Parent Teacher Organization always came through, whether they were asked to raise money for a new science lab or spread the word about an early closure.
It was after five by the time Skye and Charlie left Homer’s office. They had started toward the front door when Charlie suddenly pulled her into an empty classroom. “Listen, I didn’t want to say this in front of old Homer, but I need your help.”
Skye nodded cautiously. It was easier to agree with Charlie than argue, but his requests usually meant trouble.
“If it turns out that girl was murdered, I need you to find out who did it. Wally’s a good cop, but he’s not part of the school, so he’s bound to miss some of the less obvious clues. Besides, a psychologist should be pretty good at getting at the truth.”
“Uncle Charlie, I really don’t think—”
“You solved Honey’s and Antonia’s murders. And that mystery at the recreational club last summer. I just thought you’d want to help out your old Uncle Charlie.”
“But . . .” she trailed off.
“I remember when I called you in New Orleans to let you know you had a job in Scumble River. You were so happy. You said, ‘If there’s anything I can do to repay you, I’ll do it.’ But I guess that was a long time ago.”
“I’m not sure what I could do,” she said lamely. It really was useless to argue with Charlie.
“I want the school absolved of all responsibility. There is no way I’m letting Al Ingels say it was our fault.” Charlie crossed his arms. “Besides, there’s something funny going on with Al, and I need to keep an eye on him.”
The rivalry between Charlie and Al Ingels was well-known. Mr. Ingels had run against Charlie for the school board—a sin not easily forgiven.
Skye let her weight sag against the teacher’s desk. “What if I do investigate, and we
“We’ll deal with that later,” Charlie said. “I have a gut feeling this has nothing to do with the school.”
Skye’s head ached, her stomach growled, and her feet hurt. She wanted to go home. And Charlie was probably right. It would take an insider to uncover all the inner workings of the high school. “Okay,” she agreed. “I’ll see what I can turn up. But be prepared. Lorelei deserves to have the truth about her death exposed, even if other people’s secrets have to come out, too.”
“Whatever you say. All I ask is that you tell me first.”
They started out of the classroom. “Homer won’t be too happy about me poking around,” Skye said.
“You don’t have to worry about Homer. The wheel’s spinning, but the hamster’s dead. He won’t even notice what you’re doing.”
The principal’s blue Taurus was pulling out of the lot when Charlie and Skye emerged from the building. A storm front had passed through, prematurely darkening the sky. The outdoor lights shed an eerie green gleam on the two remaining cars. Charlie and Skye headed toward the white Seville with the bumper sticker that read: AT MY AGE I’VE SEEN IT ALL, DONE IT ALL, HEARD IT ALL . . . I JUST CAN’T REMEMBER IT ALL. But before they reached the Cadillac, the other vehicle started up and headed in their direction.
It stopped a few feet in front of them and Kent Walker slid out of the driver’s side. “Good evening, Mr. Patukas.”
“Hey.” Charlie’s halfhearted greeting conveyed his opinion of Kent.
“Need a ride home?” Kent asked Skye.
“Thanks. Charlie’s going to drop me.”
“I thought we could get a bite to eat.”
“Thanks, but I’m really tired.”
“You’ve got to eat. We’ll just go to the Feedbag.”
Skye frowned. She was hungry, and as usual, her refrigerator was bare. “Okay.” She turned to Charlie. “Why don’t you join us?”
Both men scowled. Charlie answered, “No, I’ve got to get home. I’ve got a lot of phone calls to make.”
Skye kissed Charlie good-bye and squeezed into Kent’s car. The Acura NSX was slung so low that one practically had to know how to levitate to get in and out of it.
Kent shoved the gearshift into drive, and they roared out of the parking lot. “Why doesn’t Charlie like me?”
“You’re not from town. He’ll warm up eventually.”
“He likes Simon, and he’s not from Scumble River.” Kent turned to look at Skye, and the NSX veered sharply to the right, narrowly missing a parked car.
She bit her tongue to stop from screaming at him to keep his eyes on the road. “Simon’s got roots here. That gives him an in.”
