Murder of a Sleeping Beauty

Caroline Greer greeted Skye at the door. “Another crisis, I’m afraid,” she said.

The third-grade classroom was in an uproar. Most of the kids were seated, but the noise level would have registered well above “acid-rock band” on the meter.

Skye frowned. Caroline was a great principal. Two emergencies in one year, let alone within days of each other, were unheard of for her.

“Give me the big picture first,” Skye requested.

“Shauna”—Caroline pointed to a little girl standing by the teacher—“had a disagreement with Cassie over a dance recital they’re both in next weekend.”

“And?” Skye waited for the other shoe to drop.

Caroline motioned for the teacher to join them. “Mrs. Kennedy, please give Ms. Denison the details.”

“Cassie sits in front of Shauna. I was at the blackboard writing out math problems when I heard the girls start to argue. I shushed them.”

“Then what happened?” Skye asked, worried because she didn’t see the other girl anywhere.

“I turned back to the board, and all of a sudden I heard a scream.” The older woman grabbed a piece of paper and fanned herself. “I turned around, and Shauna was holding a huge pair of scissors in one hand and Cassie’s hacked-off braid in the other.”

“Oh, my.” Skye hadn’t seen that coming. “Where’s Cassie?”

“In the bathroom with my student teacher. She refuses to come out.” Mrs. Kennedy paused. “Cassie, that is, not the student teacher.”

“I’d better talk to Shauna first.”

“You can use the room next door,” Caroline Greer whispered to Skye. “That class is on a field trip.” In her normal voice she said, “Shauna, this is Ms. Denison. You need to talk to her about what you did to Cassie.”

Shauna walked between the adults, out of her classroom and into the next one. Mrs. Greer left them alone.

Skye pulled up a couple of chairs. She urged Shauna to sit and followed suit. “Tell me what happened.”

A stubborn look settled on the little girl’s face, and she crossed her arms. “My mom said I should have had the lead in the recital, and that Cassie’s mom was sleeping with our dance teacher. That’s why she got the lead, not me.”

“Uh-huh.” Skye wasn’t sure if the girl understood what “sleeping with” someone meant. “How did you feel about that?”

“I told my mom she should sleep with the teacher, too. Then I could have the lead.”

“And what did your mom say to that?” Skye still wasn’t sure if Shauna knew what she was saying.

“Mom said she wasn’t a lizzy bean so that wouldn’t work.”

“Did you know what she meant?” Skye asked hesitantly.

Shauna shook her head. “Not really, so I figured if Mom wasn’t going to sleep with my teacher, I’d better make Cassie give me the part myself.”

“So you and Cassie argued about that this morning?”

“Right.”

“And that’s why you cut off her braid?”

The girl twirled one of her own long curls. “Not exactly.”

“Then why, exactly?” Skye asked.

“Mom said that it was too bad we both had long hair, because if Cassie didn’t, our teacher would have to let me be the lead.”

“Oh?” Skye made encouraging noises to continue.

“Yeah, so I took the scissors my mom uses to cut flowers and put them in my backpack, and when Cassie said she wouldn’t give me the lead in the recital, I took them out and cut off her braid.” Shauna looked straight at Skye. “It was easy, like snipping one of my mom’s roses.”

“I’m still not sure how cutting off Cassie’s braid will get you the lead,” Skye said.

Shauna flipped back her waist-length hair and stood. “Because we’re doing Rapunzel, silly.”

CHAPTER 11

Hook, Line, and Stinker

The rest of Skye’s morning was taken up by The Case of the Third-Grade Barber. Both mothers were summoned, and a great number of preposterous accusations were exchanged. The issue was somewhat resolved with Shauna’s three-day suspension and a quick call to Vince, securing Cassie an immediate appointment to have her hacked hair styled. But Cassie’s mother was still unhappy until Skye contacted the dance teacher, who reassured everyone that Cassie would continue to dance the role of Rapunzel, wearing a wig. Shauna would not take part in the recital in any capacity.

Because of the problem at the elementary school, it was nearly one o’clock by the time Skye reached the high school. As usual, her schedule was shot, and she was trying to play catch-up. For once, the guidance office was unlocked and empty. After stashing her raincoat, Skye grabbed her calendar. Who or what was first?

She had missed two appointments—one with a girl who had been referred to her for impulse-control problems. The teen was making a lot of progress and was nearly ready to be dismissed from counseling. A missed session wouldn’t hurt her.

The other appointment was with a young man whose grades were mysteriously dropping after a lifetime of straight As. Skye had originally suspected either depression or substance abuse, but after several meetings she didn’t see any evidence of either. He claimed he didn’t like the teachers, and Skye was ready to believe him. As Freud said, sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.

Damn! Skye had almost forgotten the meeting with Homer and Charlie scheduled for two o’clock. Charlie wanted to discuss formulating a crisis plan. While Skye agreed they needed one, she didn’t have time to deal with it just then. But she had no choice. The bosses had spoken. She’d better find the folder of plans she had collected from other schools. Why re-create the wheel when you could ride someone else’s tricycle?

“Ms. Denison?” A voice crept through the door. “You busy?”

“Come on in, Justin. I’m free until two.” It was best to tell kids up front what the timelines were; otherwise, they might think you were ending their session arbitrarily.

Justin slunk in and poured himself into a chair. His dull brown hair hung straight in his eyes, and his pasty skin had blossomed with acne. He was not a candidate for King of the Prom, and it was evident from his demeanor that he knew it.

“Hi, were we scheduled for today?” Skye asked. She didn’t remember seeing his name in her book.

“No. Want me to leave?”

“No. I was worried that I had forgotten an appointment, that’s all,” Skye reassured the skittish boy. “How are things going?”

“Okay.” He shrugged. “I’ve been thinking about Lorelei.”

“Oh?” Skye wondered where this was leading. Justin usually didn’t voluntarily talk to her, or think much about others.

“Yeah. Nobody’s acting sad she’s dead.” A troubled look passed over his normally expressionless face.

“And that bothers you?” Skye asked evenly. If Justin suspected she was interested, he’d close up tighter than a Tupperware container.

“Doesn’t seem right. The only ones that are acting sad are the ones that didn’t really know her. The ones that saw her as a princess, not a real person.” Justin slouched farther down in his chair. “Her so-called friends were nice to her, to her face, and now that she’s dead, it’s like they hated her.”

“That must be very confusing.” Skye ventured a guess.

“Yeah, well, it’s not right.” Justin avoided her eyes.

“Unfair, right?” Skye tried again.

He nodded. “She wasn’t like the rest of them.”

“In what way?”