that some of you are upset because we’ve spoken to your child without your presence. Legally a parent doesn’t have to be in attendance unless we press charges.”
Wally waited a few minutes for the buzz to quiet down, then asked, “Any questions?”
“Do you got a suspect yet?” asked an old man in the back.
“There are several people we are considering.”
“Any motive?”
“Several possible motives have come to our attention.” An emaciated woman waved her arm frantically.
“Yes?”
“I heard this was part of a satanic cult ritual. That her blood had been drained, and she was holding an upside-down cross.”
The audience gasped, and an immediate roar of voices was heard.
“That is absolutely not true,” Wally shouted above the noise.
“I heard it was part of a serial killing,” said a man in front, shooting to his feet. “They say there’s already been three others, but the police are covering it up.”
“Again, there is not a shred of truth in that rumor.” Wally wearily ran his fingers through his crisp hair. “Sorry to cut things short, but I have another appointment. Be assured, the Scumble River Police Department is on top of the investigation. There is no need to worry about the safety of your children.”
Skye wondered if he really believed that. She caught the chief’s arm as he passed her, and whispered, “Do you have a second? There’s something I want to share with you.”
He scowled, but nodded, and they walked into an empty classroom.
“I’m pretty sure Lorelei did not bring the bottle with her from home.”
“Oh, and how did you come to that conclusion?” His voice was deceptively gentle.
“I asked her friends if they had ever seen her bring something like that to school. Since it’s against the rules to bring beverages other than milk into the building, I was sure they would notice.”
“I see, so you’ve been tampering with suspects?”
“No, I was trying to help you.” Skye frowned. Had she done something wrong?
“Keep out of this, Skye. Since you can’t be trusted to work as a team player, just stay the heck out of it.” Wally turned on his heel and marched out the door, his back rigid.
She felt her throat clench. It was so painful to see Wally act like that, and know it was at least partly her fault. He was normally such a sweet guy.
“Skye, Skye, are you okay?”
Skye opened her eyes and raised her head. After Wally left, she had slipped into a desk. A wave of hopelessness had washed over her, and she had put her head down for a second. Now she was staring up at Trixie. “What time is it?”
“Four-thirty. What are you doing sleeping in a classroom?” Trixie shook her head. “Why don’t you go home if you’re tired?”
“Because there’s something I want to do first.” Skye shoved the hair from her eyes. “Are you busy?”
“Not right now,” Trixie said.
“Let’s go visit the Ingels.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because it will be awkward, and I don’t want to. Why do you need to go?”
“I need to get a better impression of them and get a look around their house.” Skye frowned. “I understand the police are still unable to get a search warrant, but a condolence call is altogether different.”
“That seems pretty cold.”
Skye sighed. “You’re right, and I do feel bad, but why wouldn’t parents want to do everything in their power to help find their daughter’s killer?”
“It does make you wonder, doesn’t it? But why do I have to come?”
“You’re my best friend, and I have no car.”
“You need to get a car,” Trixie said flatly. “How have you been getting around the last eight months or so?”
“I used my cousin’s scooter until the weather turned bad in November. Then my Grandma Denison let me use her car until March—she spent the winter down in Florida with her sister. So really I’ve only been without transportation for a few weeks.”
“Don’t you think it’s time to bite the bullet and buy a car?”
“I was going to tomorrow, but I got roped into helping the twins. Maybe I should just take whatever monstrosity my father has dug up. At least I know it’ll run.”
Trixie shuddered. “Don’t do anything hasty. Your last car looked like it had finished last in a demolition derby.”
“Well, then I really need a friend who doesn’t mind driving me for a few more days.” Skye stood and put her arm around Trixie’s shoulders. “Please?”
“Okay, but if we’re going to make a condolence call, shouldn’t we bring a dish?”
“You’re right. What can we bring?” Skye bit her lip. “I know. Mom left a chicken-and-rice casserole in my freezer last weekend. We can grab that.”
“Do you know where the Ingels live?”
“Oh, yes. I was out there Wednesday with Wally and Homer. It’s on South Basin, past McDonald’s, past that little subdivision, and backs up to the cemetery. It’s all by itself on ten acres. Every time I drive past, I expect to see a moat. Wait till you get a load of this place.”
Trixie wheeled her Mustang through the wrought-iron gates and onto the concrete driveway that curved in front of the Ingelses’ redbrick manor-style home. She parked the car on a paved apron that already held a red BMW.
As she got out of the Ford, Skye noted the huge trees and perfectly trimmed bushes. The house was less than five years old, and mature landscaping like that did not come cheap. How much did a bank president make?
The women approached the double front doors. Trixie glanced uneasily at Skye before pushing the bell.
A long minute passed before the door was swung open by a middle-aged woman in an apron who spoke with a Polish accent. “Yes? May I help you?”
“Hi, I’m Ms. Denison, we met a couple of days ago, and this is Mrs. Frayne. We’re from the school. We brought this for the family.” She handed the casserole over. “Are the Ingelses receiving visitors?” Her time in New Orleans society was finally paying off. She knew the right words to use when calling on the rich and snobbish.
The woman ushered them into a soaring two-story foyer with a curved staircase. She indicated that they wait, and then disappeared down the hall toward the kitchen. A few minutes later she returned, minus the casserole dish, opened a pocket door to the right, and led them into the library.
Mr. and Mrs. Ingels sat in matching wing chairs flanking a massive stone fireplace. Mrs. VanHorn was perched on a sofa situated between the two chairs.
The housekeeper withdrew silently, leaving Trixie and Skye to introduce themselves. Skye observed Trixie’s frozen expression and took over. “Mr. and Mrs. Ingels, Mrs. VanHorn, I’m not sure if you remember me. I’m Skye Denison, school psychologist at the high school, and this is Trixie Frayne, the librarian. We stopped by to offer our condolences, and see if there is anything we can do for you.”
Allen Ingels rose from his chair, his face expressionless. “Yes, I do remember you.”
Skye braced for another attack about why she hadn’t saved his daughter, but the man continued. “I wanted to apologize for my rudeness the other day. We realize now there was nothing you could have done to prevent Lorelei’s death.”
“Thank you.” Skye’s heart returned to its normal beat. “We all say things we don’t mean in the heat of the moment.”
Mrs. Ingels spoke from her chair. “Won’t you have a seat? Anna is getting coffee.”
Skye and Trixie squeezed in beside Priscilla VanHorn. Today Mrs. VanHorn wore a tight black suit with crochet
