cutouts circling the sleeves and the hem of the short skirt. Her red hair was arranged in an array of curls that flowed past her shoulders.
Trixie was still silent, so Skye said, “Nice to see you again, Mrs. VanHorn.” Even after a couple of years in the school system, it still seemed awkward to Skye to use Mr. and Mrs. instead of first names. It was one of the quaint customs that those in education seemed to cling to. Probably so the kids wouldn’t take to calling their teachers Debbie and Robin.
Skye turned to Lorna Ingels. “Is there anything I can help you with in regard to school-related matters?”
Before she could answer, Allen spoke. “Right now we can’t do anything. The police have managed to tie our hands at every turn. We can’t clean out her locker, we can’t collect her belongings, we can’t even plan the services, because they won’t tell us when they’re releasing the body. For all we know, they’re cutting open our beautiful daughter as we speak.”
At his last sentence, Lorna gasped, then crumpled in a sobbing heap. Everyone froze and stared at the distraught woman. Finally, Mr. Ingels leaned over and patted his wife’s hand. This seemed to release the rest of the group from their paralysis, and Skye and Priscilla leaped to their feet. Priscilla reached Mrs. Ingels first and guided her out of the room.
Trixie rose from the couch and uttered her first words since their arrival. “We’ll leave you now. We’re sorry for your loss.”
Skye plastered a look of embarrassment on her face, which wasn’t far from how she really felt, and said, “I’m sorry to be a bother, but could I use your powder room before we go?” She had come here to see Lorelei’s room, and she would fulfill her mission, come hell or high water, as her grandmother used to say. She’d show Wally what she could accomplish without him.
Allen Ingels’s expression grew colder, but he nodded. “The guest bath down here is being remodeled. You’ll have to use the one at the top of the stairs. It’s to your right.”
Skye quickly backed out of the library and ran up the steps. How could she tell which bedroom was Lorelei’s? The house was so huge. Plus, she had to worry about where the two women and the housekeeper had gone.
Since Mr. Ingels had just told her the bathroom was to the right, she went left—if confronted, she would act confused. The first door she tried, she struck gold. It had to be Lorelei’s room. It was full of pageant trophies, crowns, and pom-poms. Done in ice blue and silver, it was a stunning setting for Lorelei’s blond, snow-princess looks.
Skye didn’t dare go in, but she tried to get a sense of the teenager from the posters and memorabilia. When she eased open the next door, she caught her breath. It was a huge dance studio, complete with barre and mirrors. These people didn’t kid around with their daughters’ futures.
She checked her watch. She had been gone only a couple of minutes. She’d check out one more room, then flush the toilet. Skye turned and found herself facing a miniature version of Lorelei. If possible, this rendition was even more beautiful. She wore an ice-blue leotard and silver tights. Skye wondered briefly if those were the family colors.
Skye gathered her wits and said, “Hi, you must be Linette. I’m Ms. Denison. Could you show me where your bathroom is?”
The ten-year-old was silent. Her perfect face remained expressionless. She turned and walked down the hall a few feet, stopping in front of a closed door. “Here it is.”
Skye wondered what was going on behind the child’s exquisite exterior.
CHAPTER 9
It’s the Shame of the Game
“Tell me again why I’m here,” Trixie demanded into her coffee cup. The oversize red velour seat of Gillian’s TransSport swallowed Trixie’s tiny figure, and she looked like a cameo nestled in a jewelry box. A cranky cameo.
Skye, Trixie, and the twins’ daughters, Iris and Kristin, were on their way to the Junior Miss Stanley County pageant in Laurel. For fourteen of the fifteen minutes they had been on the road, at least one of Skye’s passengers had been complaining, yelling, or crying. She was ready to turn the minivan around and head back to Scumble River. Only the fear of her cousins’ wrath kept her going in the opposite direction.
Skye glanced at the rearview mirror. The girls had finally settled down and were busy talking, not paying attention to the adults in the front seat. Still, she lowered her voice. “I told you last night, this is the perfect way to find out the real scoop on the Ingels.”
“I understand that,” Trixie retorted, “but why am I here?”
“Because I can’t go off and leave the girls alone. One of us needs to stay with them while the other investigates.”
“Great.” Trixie took a big gulp of her coffee. “This is going to be like yesterday when you left me with Allen Ingels, isn’t it? The man kept looking at his watch. I finally had to tell him you had irritable bowel syndrome.”
“Gee, thanks.” Skye grimaced, imagining that rumor flying through town. That would certainly attract eligible bachelors to her door. “Is that the high school over there on the left?”
Trixie squinted. “Yes. The sign says, ‘Contestants please park by the south entrance.’ ”
“Which way is south?” Skye had no sense of direction.
“Around back, Aunt Skye,” Iris instructed.
Skye cringed. Since her stint as a lifeguard last summer, her cousins’ kids had started calling her “aunt.” Even though it was kind of sweet, it made her feel old. But it would be too Grinch-like to tell them to stop. She was stuck with the title.
Skye eased the minivan into a pull-through spot. The long pointy nose on the vehicle made it difficult to park in a regular slot. The girls tumbled out, and the two women followed at a slower pace. Skye opened the back hatch and started handing out boxes, suitcases, and garment bags.
The four staggered toward the entrance, balancing enough luggage for a world cruise. Once inside, the girls led the way to the registration desk.
Skye let her burdens fall to the floor and said, “Hi, I’ve got Iris Allen and Kristin Tubb checking in.”
The woman behind the table had big hair, big breasts, and a short, sequined gown. She looked over her rhinestone-edged glasses and frowned. “And you are?”
“My name is Skye Denison. I’m their guardian for today.” Skye leaned closer to peer at the woman’s name tag, half-hidden by the marabou feathers that trimmed her neckline. “Ms. Reiter.”
“I’m afraid that’s a problem. A parent must be present.”
“Really?” Skye held on to her temper as the girls started to cry. She picked up a blank entry form and turned to the rules. She read them twice and turned back to Ms. Reiter. “I can’t seem to find that rule. Could you point it out to me?”
Ms. Reiter snatched the papers from Skye’s hand, and flipped through them furiously. “It’s not here. It’s just understood.”
“Oh, I don’t think so.” Skye started to pick up her things. “Which room do we report to?”
“I can’t let the girls compete. It wouldn’t be fair.” Ms. Reiter’s bosom puffed out like dough rising.
“If I put these things down again, somewhere other than our dressing room, it will be to make two phone calls.” Skye paused to make sure she had the woman’s attention. “The first will be to our attorney, and the second to the
Ms. Reiter’s mouth formed an outraged O.
“Where did you say our dressing room was?”
“Room 102.
“Great. You have a real nice day now.” Skye led her little band away.
Trixie didn’t bother to lower her voice. “Not one of the sharper crayons in the box, is she?”
From the constant chatter Kristin and Iris engaged in, Skye learned that Friday had been the Talent portion of the pageant. Kristin had performed a gymnastic routine, and Iris had demonstrated fly-fishing. This morning would
