Murder of a Creped Suzette

“Message, smessage,” Homer groused. “Come on or we’ll never get this meeting over with.”

“What meeting?” If she had to explain with one word why the human race would never achieve its full potential, meeting would be that word.

“The one you’re making us late for.” Homer thrust his head at her.

Skye stepped out of bad-breath range. “What’s it about?”

“Mrs. Gooding wants to talk about that little brainiac of hers.”

“Now?” Skye’s heart sank. She couldn’t stay late today. She had to rescue Toby and get to the police station. “If it’s not an emergency, she should make an appointment like everyone else.”

“Everyone else isn’t on the school board.” Homer grabbed Skye’s elbow and shoved her forward. “After five years in public education, you don’t still believe that everyone gets treated equally, do you?”

Skye ignored his cynicism. “Where are we going?” she asked, cringing because she already knew the answer. There was only one place in this direction where they sometimes held conferences.

“The library.”

Of course. Where else? Skye tried to hang back, but Homer kept pulling.

When they arrived, Skye was relieved to see that Trixie had seated Mrs. Gooding as far as possible from the storage room where Toby was currently ensconced. As Skye and Homer were sitting down, the final bell rang, and a few minutes later Ian’s teachers began to assemble.

Once everyone was present, Homer said, “Mrs. Gooding, what is it you’d like to discuss?”

“First—” A series of sneezes interrupted her. Once she found a tissue, blew her nose, and accepted a round of God bless yous, she continued. “I’d like to thank you all for your hard work with Ian. He hasn’t complained about being bored once yet.” She paused, sneezing twice more, then said, “But he has expressed an interest in dropping physical education and taking a real class in its place.”

“Well.” Homer stroked a tuft of hair that poked between the buttons of his shirt. “The problem with that is he needs PE credits to graduate.”

“But—” Mrs. Gooding broke off, overcome by a bout of sneezing. Once she had wiped her nose, she said, “Sorry. I can’t think what’s making me sneeze. The only thing I’m allergic to is dogs.”

Skye stole a quick glance at the storage room. A white paw was sticking out from under the door. “It’s probably mold,” she suggested. “This is an old building after all.” She had to get this meeting over with ASAP. “Maybe we should move somewhere else.”

Homer glared at Skye. “I’m sure we’re almost done. Right, Mrs. Gooding?”

“Yes.” Mrs. Gooding dabbed at her watering eyes with a Kleenex. “I just wanted to speak to the math teacher about the note you sent me yesterday.”

“The one about Ian’s assignments?” the math teacher asked.

“Uh-huh.” Mrs. Gooding nodded. “I checked with him, and he said that his homework is not missing; it’s just having an out-of-notebook experience.”

Skye looked to see if Mrs. Gooding was joking, but her expression was completely serious.

“Fine.” The math teacher didn’t blink. “Please tell Ian that his homework better rematerialize by tomorrow or he’s getting a zero.”

“Anything else?” Homer interjected before Mrs. Gooding could respond.

“Yes.” Mrs. Gooding turned to Skye. “How is Ian’s counseling going?”

“Slow but sure.” Skye’s tone was encouraging. “He’s starting to talk more.”

“About?”

“I can’t discuss specifics.” Skye shifted in her chair. “Remember, I told you about confidentiality when you signed the permission slip?”

“Good.” Homer shoved back his chair. “Then if there’s nothing else . . . ?”

“One more thing.”

While Mrs. Gooding paused for another sneeze, Skye watched in horror as one of Trixie’s student helpers walked up to the storage room, inserted her key, and opened the door. Toby erupted from the confined space like Silly String from a can.

Skye took off after him, but he eluded her every attempt to corral him. She and the dog did a few laps around the library. Books flew off the shelves as Skye tried to right herself while she skidded around corners. Toby took the same hairpin turns with ease. He looked back every once in a while to see if Skye was keeping up with him, but the moment she got near enough to grab him, he danced away, yipping excitedly.

Finally he grew bored with the game, abruptly changed direction, and zipped over to where everyone in the meeting was sitting. Before Skye could reach him, he ran up to Homer, raised his leg, and peed on the principal’s shiny black shoes.

Toby’s antics put a quick halt to the conference. Homer barely waited until everyone had fled before he laid into Skye. His tirade eventually wound down, ending with, “And I want a new pair of these exact same shoes on my desk by tomorrow morning or you’re fired.”

“Where—?”

“Franklin’s in Clay Center. Size ten double-E. They close at six.”

“Yes, sir. I’m so sorry.” Skye stared at the floor as she explained her predicament. Lifting her head, she said, “It won’t happen again. I . . .” She trailed off; Homer was no longer there. The only trace of him was his soaked, smelly shoes left in the middle of the table.

Having already deposited Toby in her car, Skye was walking back to her office to get her purse when the school’s music teacher, carrying a large box that obstructed her view, bumped into Skye in the hall. The impact caused the contents to spill all over the floor.

“Oops.” Noreen Iverson was in her late forties, with a smooth complexion and comfortable figure. “You must think I’m really clumsy.”

“Not at all.” Skye squatted to help the woman gather her belongings. “I drop stuff all the time.”

“I guess I’m a little distracted today.” Noreen’s cheeks turned red. “I heard some disturbing news this morning and I can’t get it out of my mind.”

“Oh?”

“About the poor girl who was found dead at the old Hutton dairy.” Noreen picked up pages of music and stuffed them into the carton.

“Yes.” Skye was thankful no one seemed to know that she was the one who had found the body.

“My niece is an EMT and she was called out there to take care of some woman who fainted,” Noreen explained. “She heard one of the officers say the dead girl was Suzette Neal.”

“Really?” Great! The news was out before the identification was official. She’d have to let Wally know. “The singer from Saturday night’s concert?”

“Yes.” Noreen straightened. “But I knew her when she was just a baby.”

“I saw from the flyer that she was from around here,” Skye said, hoping to encourage the woman to continue.

“Her father was my supervisor when I student taught here twenty-seven years ago.” Noreen’s hazel eyes softened. “He was such a sweet, handsome guy.”

“Did he work here long?” Skye nabbed another stray sheet of music and handed it over.

“Just that one year. His wife died very suddenly—a terrible accident—and he was a changed man after that.” Noreen hoisted the refilled carton into her arms, adding as she walked away, “In fact, when he left, they offered me his job and I’ve been here ever since.”

Well, that solved one mystery. Mr. Neal had been a teacher. When Skye got to her office, she pulled out the list of questions she’d made regarding Mrs. Neal’s death and made a quick note. Another thing to share with Wally when she talked to him this afternoon.

CHAPTER 11

“Mama He’s Crazy”