Skye decided to pursue that later. She scanned the area. There was no sign of disturbance. “We’d better get out front before the chief comes looking for us.”
“Too late,” came Wally’s voice from behind them. He aimed his flashlight at Justin. “Stay where you are, son.”
Skye saw the teen’s Adam’s apple bob nervously.
The chief barely glanced at Skye. “You, go sit on the bleachers, like I told you before.”
“No.” She stepped nearer to Justin. “This boy is my responsibility until his parents get here, and I’m staying with him.”
Wally’s features hardened with anger. He started to say something, seemed to change his mind, then spoke through clenched teeth. “Fine. You.” He pointed at Skye. “Keep your mouth shut, or I swear I’ll arrest you for obstruction of justice. You.” He pointed to Justin. “Tell me what you’re doing back here, and why I shouldn’t arrest you for tampering with evidence.”
The boy stared at the chief, then looked beseechingly at Skye. She raised an eyebrow at Wally. They all stood silently.
The chief sighed and spoke to Skye. “Tell him to answer my questions.”
“You told me to keep my mouth shut.”
Wally groaned.
“Right, a foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds. I forgot,” she said, and hastily continued, “Justin, tell the chief what you were doing back here.”
“He’ll be mad.” The boy shuffled his feet and refused to make eye contact.
“Too late again.” Wally shot Justin an angry look.
“Smart, Wally. That’s the way to get someone to talk to you.” Skye turned her back on the chief. “Justin, unless you had something to do with Lorelei’s death, I’m sure the chief won’t care what you were doing.”
“Sure, I’m just concerned about this incident, nothing else,” Wally confirmed. Skye could tell he was trying the “good cop” routine.
“Promise?” Justin asked.
Both adults nodded.
“Okay, I was trying to get out of here. The cop at the door wouldn’t let me go, and then I thought about something I heard in PE class one time.” Justin took a breath. “Someone told me there was a secret door backstage that would lead you out of the gym.”
Wally’s expression sharpened. “Did you find it?”
“Yeah. It’s right here.” Justin pushed aside a curtain and a half door was revealed.
Skye reached for the knob, but Wally grabbed her hand. “Don’t touch anything. I need to get this whole area fingerprinted.”
Justin’s face reddened. “Ah, I already opened it.”
“Son of a bitch! There goes any evidence.”
Skye couldn’t remember ever having heard the chief swear before. She closed her eyes, remembering once when Wally had spoken about investigating a young person’s death a few years ago, and how much it had disturbed him. He must be experiencing similar feelings now, and that was why he was coming across as such an insensitive and authoritative jerk. Convinced Skye had betrayed him several months ago, and now having to deal with a senseless death, the chief was raising all sorts of emotional defenses.
She tried to save the situation by asking, “Where does the door lead, Justin?”
“The band room.”
“It must be so they can hand their instruments through, without carrying them in the corridors,” she guessed.
Wally focused on Skye. “Why do you say that?”
“With all the additions put on this school, there are some rooms that are right next to each other, but you have to detour through miles of hallway to get from one to the other. That must be the case here. I know the hall dead-ends at the gym.” Skye paused and considered. “Hey, maybe not all is lost. You can have your techs dust the band room. Justin didn’t go in there, right?”
“No.”
“Good.” Skye smiled.
The chief crossed his arms. “One other question, Justin. Why did you want to leave so badly?”
The boy reddened and glanced at Skye before answering. “I need to go to the bathroom.”
It was nearly six by the time the police finished their work in the gym. The stage and the backstage areas remained taped off with bright yellow ribbon, a glaring contrast to the gray gymnasium. Justin had been released to his parents, and most of the crowd had dissipated. Suppers had to be cooked, farm animals had to be fed, and families had to be tended, no matter who died.
Skye, Wally, and Homer were left trying to locate Lorelei Ingels’s parents. Wally had called their residence and spoken to their housekeeper, who’d told him that Allen Ingels, Lorelei’s father, was out of town that day on business and his wife, Lorna, had accompanied him in order to shop and have her hair done. Lorelei’s younger sister was at a neighbor’s playing. They were all expected home by seven.
After a brief discussion, it was decided that Skye, Homer, and Wally would wait for the Ingels at their home. Skye hadn’t been surprised when Homer insisted that she go along. The Ingels were an extremely prominent family—Mr. Ingels was the bank president—and Homer liked to surround himself with other people to deflect any possible blame that might be cast on him. Wally led the way in the squad car, and Homer and Skye followed in the principal’s Taurus.
Ten minutes later, the three of them stood on the Ingels’ doorstep. The housekeeper answered their ring, and after a brief explanation from the chief, showed them into a stark white living room.
They seated themselves, and the housekeeper brought them coffee. Skye winced as Homer put his cup down on the glass table. She hoped it wouldn’t leave a ring.
Skye wiggled, trying to find a comfortable position in the Jacobsen chair she occupied. Except for a family portrait done in oils above the fireplace, and several mirrors hung in strategic locations, the walls reminded her of the inside of a refrigerator.
Homer’s shaggy appearance looked out of place against the streamlined leather couch on which he was perched.
Wally, on the other hand, seemed at ease in a Bauhaus chair as he made notes on a pocket-size pad. He finally looked up. “Homer, you and Skye really don’t have to be here.”
Homer slowly put down the magazine he had been pretending to read. “How would it look to the Ingels and the rest of the community if we let the police take over with no school representation?”
Before Wally could respond the sound of car doors slamming and the front door opening drew their attention. A tall woman dressed in a lime-colored Nipon suit entered. Her champagne-blond hair was perfectly coifed in a shoulder-length flip, and she held a Shizue purse.
The man following her had been handsome in his youth, but time had clawed its signature across his features. His Armani suit, although flawlessly tailored, couldn’t hide his thickening middle. His florid complexion spoke of three-martini lunches, wine-drenched dinners, and bedtime brandies.
The chief stood and took a couple of steps toward them. Skye and Homer kept a few feet back.
Allen Ingels spoke. “What’s going on? What are you doing in my house?”
Wally answered, “I’m sorry, folks, but I have some bad news for you.”
Lorna Ingels paled and clutched her husband’s arm. He half turned, almost as if he were ready to make a run for it.
“Bad news? What could you possibly have to say that would concern us?” Allen Ingels brushed off an imaginary speck of lint, his eyes suddenly unable to meet the chief’s.
To Skye, it was almost as if he already felt guilty about something.
“Today at approximately three o’clock your daughter Lorelei was found in the high school gym, dead from unknown causes.”
“My baby?” Mrs. Ingels shrieked and sagged against her husband. “What happened to my baby?”
Before Wally could speak, Mr. Ingels roared, “Nonsense! There must be some mistake. What gross
