was time to relax, pet Bingo, and give herself a chance to process all that she’d seen and heard.
Friday morning had whizzed by like a kid on a skate-board. It was nearly one by the time Skye was able to take a break. She grabbed two cans of soda from the machine in the teachers’ lounge and headed to the library.
Trixie was helping a small group of students find books on various occupations for the vocational unit of their health class—the closet thing to career counseling the teens got at Scumble River High School.
Skye held up the can of Pepsi and motioned with her head to a small room off the main IMC area. The librarian nodded and held up five fingers.
Trixie’s office was crammed with a copy machine, desk, and boxes and boxes of books. Skye cleared an orange plastic chair and settled in. She popped the top of her Diet Pepsi and took a swig, wishing she had remembered to bring a Diet Coke from home.
Trixie bounced inside and closed the door. “Hi, how’s it going?”
“So-so. Just when I think things have calmed down, something else happens.”
“This is a tough situation.”
“True. Hey, I’ve got a question for you. Did the cheerleaders’ mothers have a meeting here at school the morning Lorelei was killed?”
Trixie dug through her desk drawer and pulled out her calendar. After flipping a few pages, she said, “Yes. The cheerleaders met before school and their moms met first period. We discussed fund-raising.”
“Was anyone missing?”
“They were all there except for Tara’s mom. Her whole family was out of town.”
“Did any of the moms handle the pom-poms?”
“I think they all did.” Trixie scratched her head. “Yeah, we handed them around while they were waiting for the cheerleaders’ meeting to end. We were talking about buying better ones when we upgraded the uniforms.”
“How about the cheerleaders, did they work with the pom-poms that morning?”
“No. It was a meeting, not a practice.”
“Did any of the moms come in contact with Lorelei?”
Trixie shrugged. “Maybe. At one point they were all in one room together.”
“So, Mrs. VanHorn could have had a pom-pom strand clinging to her, which transferred to the doctored bottle of juice, which she had an opportunity to hand to Lorelei?”
“Sure, but so could anyone else.”
Friday afternoon was productive. Skye saw a couple of her regular counselees, made arrangements for the first round of annual reviews, and returned calls. At four-thirty she packed up several files and the pile of papers she had grabbed from her box that morning but never gotten around to reading, and headed home. She had big plans for her Friday night—a pizza, a bubble bath, and a new Margaret Maron mystery.
It was time to relax. The week from hell was finally over.
CHAPTER 18
Not a Boast of a Chance
Saturday morning at exactly five to seven, Skye maneu vered the Bel Air into her parents’ driveway. The white pea gravel shone like a sea of pearls as she guided the huge car toward the red brick ranch house.
It was obvious that her father had cut the lawn only yesterday. The acre of grass spread as smooth as a putting green to the edge of the cornfield.
She hadn’t been out to visit in a while and was almost afraid to look and see what the concrete goose was wearing. A quick peek revealed a pink fur bunny costume, complete with ears and a powder-puff tail. Skye vowed to try once again to talk her mother out of dressing the lawn statuary.
Before she had fully stopped the car, May was climbing into the passenger seat. “Let’s go, you’re late.”
Skye put the Chevy in reverse. “Why’re you in such a hurry?”
“I promised your dad’s cousin I’d take pictures when her granddaughter competes, and I don’t know when she’s on.”
“It doesn’t start until nine, and it’s only an hour’s drive to Bloomington.” Skye gave up trying to explain, knowing that to her mother, “late” meant you were less than fifteen minutes early. “Which cousin is this?”
“One on the Denison side. Her mom and your dad’s father’s first wife were half sisters.”
Skye didn’t follow the genealogy, but asked, “What’s her name?”
“The cousin’s name or the granddaughter’s name?” May rubbed her arms. “It’s chilly this morning. Turn up the heat.”
“The heater doesn’t work.” She handed her mother an afghan. “The granddaughter, what’s her name?”
“Farrah Miles.”
Skye felt a mild shock run through her. No doubt about it, she was definitely related to too many people. “I never knew they were our relatives.”
“Someone was recently working on a family tree and discovered the connection. It’s over a hundred years old.”
“Mom, could you kind of keep this quiet?”
“Why?” May narrowed her eyes. “They seem like nice people. Nothing to be ashamed of.”
“It’s not that. It’s just that Farrah is mixed up with the Lorelei Ingels crowd and . . .”
“And she’s a suspect.”
“Sort of,” Skye admitted.
“Okay. But it’s not as if I’m the only one who knows.”
Skye shrugged. A secret in Scumble River had about as much chance as a weed in her father’s lawn. “Do your best.”
For the rest of the way they chatted about family matters and the latest Scumble River gossip. The drive itself was routine: a straight shot down Interstate 55, passing little towns with unusual names—Dwight, Odell, Pontiac, and Skye’s favorite, Towanda. Meticulously kept farmhouses and fields being readied for spring planting constituted most of the scenery. Even with the highway smells, the air was fresh, with only an occasional trace of hog to remind them what was around the next bend.
As they neared the exit for Jumer’s Hotel, the pageant location, the scenery changed from farmland to college town. Once Skye made the turn, she would never have guessed that crops would soon be growing less than a mile away.
They parked in the hotel’s lot and hiked across the asphalt to the elaborate entrance. Jumer’s had been built to resemble an elegant French chateau, but the furnishings looked truer to the owner’s original German roots. The lobby was full of heavy, carved wooden furniture, elaborate artwork, and tapestries.
Skye was relieved when May spotted a Miss Central Illinois pageant sign. She had been half-afraid that Lorna Ingels would get the governor to call off the contest and award the crown to Lorelei posthumously. Obviously that hadn’t happened. Abby had said that it was highly unlikely since the state government had nothing to do with the pageants, which were all privately run.
Part of the contest was already over. On Friday, the preliminary competition had been held. Today were the finals. The crowning would take place on Sunday. After purchasing tickets, Skye and her mother moved farther into the convention area. Older teens and young twentysomethings scurried up and down the hall, usually followed by their mothers. One of the pair was often screaming or crying.
Skye found the room where the first round of the finals was being held and guided her mother to a front-row seat. They had ten minutes to spare. She wondered if any of the girls from Scumble River had made the cut.
According to the program, the girls were judged on intelligence, poise, personality, beauty of face and figure, grooming, and speaking ability. Prizes ranged from five-hundred- to twenty-thousand-dollar scholarships.
Having seen the little girls compete, Skye was prepared for the spectacle of the older teens. May was not. Lights dimmed, and the emcee climbed onto the makeshift stage.
He welcomed everyone, and said, “Our first round today is Modeling. Points will be awarded for beauty,
