and broke. It had been hard enough to return to the rural Midwestern town she had escaped as a teenager, but the citizens’ long memories had made it worse. Hardly a week went by without someone reminding Skye of what she had declared twelve years ago in her valedictorian speech. Back then, the moment the words had left her mouth, she’d regretted saying that Scumble River was full of small-minded people with even smaller intellects. She had regretted it even more since she’d moved back home.
She snuck a peek at her watch as she pushed a stray chestnut curl under her headband. Twenty-five minutes before the Scumble River High School dismissal bell would ring. Once again, she attempted to make eye contact with the teen seated kitty-corner from her at the small table. He ducked his head and studied his chewed fingernails. Justin had not spoken three words in the previous fifteen minutes. Skye searched for some pithy comment.
Before she could come up with one, a student she vaguely recognized flung the door open and stumbled inside. The girl bent over, trying to catch her breath, and spoke between gasps. “Sleeping Beauty is dead.”
“What?” Was this teen-speak for: Run, the cops are here? Was Skye supposed to answer: The gray wolf howls at midnight?
Skye’s gaze raked the adolescent, who was still hunched over, hands on her knees, standing just past the office threshold. She was dressed in low-riding wide-legged denims and a hooded belly top. Her bleached two-tone hair fell to the middle of her back, and her navel was pierced.
After a quick appraisal, Skye decided that the girl probably hung with either the Rebels or the Skanks. Of Scumble River High’s five or six cliques, these were the two roughest. And unlike the teacher-pleasing Cheerleaders, Jocks, and Nerds, they did not volunteer information to adults. What was this girl up to?
The adolescent finally straightened and grabbed Skye by the wrist. “Something abhorrent has happened. You have to come right now.” She tugged at Skye’s arm. “Hurry!”
Skye found herself half-running, half-dragged down the long hall. Orange lockers went by in a blur, and the smell of that day’s lunch caught in her throat.
The teen skidded to a halt before the closed gym doors and pointed. “In there.”
“Who are you, and what are you talking about?”
“This is just FYI. I’m out of here.” The girl tried to push past Skye and head back down the corridor.
Skye grabbed the hood of her top. “Oh no, you don’t. Explain.”
“Hey, Cujo, back in your cage.” The teen twisted violently, trying to free herself, then turned an anger-filled stare on Skye, who met her gaze without blinking. Finally, the girl shrugged. “So, okay, I cut my eighth-period study hall, and I was hanging around here and there, waiting until my buds got out of school. I wanted a cigarette, and knew there was no PE last hour, so I went in the gym. It was dark, but I thought I saw someone on the stage, so I went closer. That’s when I saw her. The cheerleader playing Sleeping Beauty. She was laying there, dead.”
The teen tried again to free herself. Skye refused to let go. “Oh no, you don’t, you’re staying with me. Let’s check this out. Sleeping Beauty was probably just rehearsing, or taking a nap.” Under her breath she muttered, “Or maybe she was afraid of you.”
Side by side they entered the unlit gym. As her eyes adjusted, Skye could just make out the stage at the opposite end of the room, cluttered with partially completed sets for the spring musical
To their right, a mock castle bedroom had been set up. Lying on the twin bed was one of the most beautiful young women Skye had ever seen. Her straight blond hair brushed the floor, and her face was a flawless oval. She had passed from the awkwardness of adolescence, and was yet to be touched by the hand of time. She was perfect.
Skye took a closer look. Her skin had a waxy appearance and was almost blue-gray in color. Her lips and nails were pale. Skye rushed to the bed and checked for a pulse. She could feel nothing over the thud of her own heartbeat. She put her ear to the girl’s chest. Again nothing. Finally, she placed the back of her hand to the teen’s mouth. She wasn’t breathing.
Skye forced herself to remain calm and remember what she had learned in her first-aid course. Nothing applied here. Sleeping Beauty was dead.
“Run to the office and call 911.” Skye looked up to find the other girl gone. “Shit, I shouldn’t have let go of her.”
“You shouldn’t say ‘shit’ either.”
Skye’s heart thudded, and her head jerked up. She caught her breath when she recognized Justin, standing near the stairs. It was so rare to hear him speak that she hadn’t recognized his voice. She hadn’t noticed, but he must have followed when the girl dragged her away.
He was the type that blended into the background. Medium height, medium build, and medium brown hair that hung straight from a center part to the middle of his ears.
“Justin, am I glad to see you. Run to the office and call 911. We need an ambulance.”
“Looks more like you need a hearse.” His words were cocky, but his face was pale and sweaty.
“Justin, please, just call 911. Tell them no lights or siren, and no radio.” Skye wondered if there were anything else she should do. “And get the principal. Oh, and tell him to shut off the dismissal bell.”
He shrugged. “He’s not going to listen to me.”
She searched the pocket of her gray wool skirt and found a pad of passes. “Give me a pen.”
The boy handed her the Bic from his shirt pocket.
She scribbled a note and signed it, then handed it to Justin. “Hurry!”
When the boy left, Skye pulled down the sleeves of her pink cardigan and shivered. It was the beginning of April, and it was still cold in Illinois. Of course, it didn’t help that the school board turned off the furnace on March 31, no matter what the weather.
Skye felt a deep sadness settle over her. Why was this young woman dead? She had barely begun to live. This was one Sleeping Beauty who would never awake to her prince’s kiss. Skye’s gaze was drawn back to the girl. What had caused her death? There was no visible wound, no blood, no mark of any kind.
She glanced around. The scene looked ready for a rehearsal. Except—what was that, not quite under the bed? She got down on her hands and knees, and peered at the object. The label had been peeled off, but the bottle’s odd shape teased Skye’s memory.
She sat back on her heels and gnawed at her thumb.
Suddenly doors flew open and lights snapped on. “Miss Denison, what’s the meaning of all this?” Homer Knapik, the high-school principal, scurried across the gym floor.
As he approached her, a detached part of Skye’s mind noted that between his squat build and the hair emanating from nearly every orifice and covering every limb, the principal looked like a sheepdog—one ready to bite the next lamb that veered from the flock.
Justin followed at a prudent distance, his face still chalky but his brown eyes alight with interest.
Skye met Homer at the bottom of the stairs. “Did you call 911? Did you shut off the dismissal bell?”
“Yes, and you’d better have a damn good reason for your note.” He peered peevishly up at her through the fuzz hanging over his eyes.
“I do.” She pointed to the body on the bed. “Maybe you’d better have the teachers escort the kids out the front door. We don’t want any of them wandering back here.”
Homer took a step closer and squinted upward. “Oh, my God! That’s Lorelei Ingels. She isn’t . . . dead?” When Skye nodded, he scribbled a note on the pad from his pocket. “Boy, take this to the front office immediately and give it to Mrs. Hill.”
“Justin, after you do that, wait for the ambulance crew, and show them the side entrance.” Skye lowered her voice and kept an eye on the teen, who was walking away ever so slowly. “We’d better call the police, too.”
“What?” Homer jumped from foot to foot, as if he were about to pee his pants. “Do you have any idea who Lorelei Ingels is? Her family is one of the wealthiest and most influential in town. She’s won nearly every beauty pageant in the state. We’ve got to be extremely careful.” He stopped hopping around, and his shoulders slumped. “What am I saying? No matter how we handle this or how she died, we’re screwed.”
“A young woman is dead, and that’s your first reaction?” Skye shook her head. She hoped that thirty years in
