Murder of a Chocolate-Covered Cherry (29 page)

“Because he’s decided not to buy the factory after all,” Skye blurted out. “Right?”

“Right.” Carson grinned at Skye. “Maybe I should offer
you
a job with the company.”

“Thanks, but no thanks.” Skye smiled back, then explained
to Wally, “Fine Foods didn’t pass the reputation test. There was dissention among the family—Jared and his mom arguing over the loudspeaker at the dinner, the contest practice being sabotaged, and, of course, the murder.”

“There were a few other things, too, but those were the major issues,” Carson agreed. “Someone in that company doesn’t want it sold, and that’s a sure sign that an acquisition is going to bomb.”

“The Fines don’t know you’re backing out. Right?” Skye remembered what Tammy had said.

“No.” Carson moved toward the door. “They’ll get a notice delivered from my lawyer tonight at eight, and I want to be in the air headed back to Texas when they read it.”

“Have a safe flight, Dad.” Wally shook Carson’s hand.

Skye kissed his cheek. “You be good now, you hear?”

As Carson made his way down the front steps to his rental car, Skye shut the door and asked Wally, “You okay with what just happened?”

“Yeah. I am.” Wally took her hand in both of his. “I feel good about us. I’m glad you told me what my father had planned; otherwise it would have felt like you two had ganged up on me. And strange as it may seem, I think Dad and I are better now than we have been in years. I think he may finally understand me a little more, or at least accept who I am.”

“I’d say trying to buy a factory for you proves his love, too.”

“So you want me to buy you a factory?” Wally teased.

“You are so not funny.” Skye stuck out her tongue. “Hey, speaking of factories, I need to tell you something about Ashley Yates.”

“Did Xenia admit to kidnapping her?”

“Because I talked to Xenia as her school psychologist and not as the PD’s psych consultant, all I can tell you is that Ashley was last seen alive and well Friday morning at the Fine Foods factory. She got out of a car at that location of her own free will, and hasn’t been seen since.”

“Let me see if I can extrapolate. Xenia and Ashley were together at the factory for whatever reason, and Ashley got
out of Xenia’s car.” Wally scratched his chin. “At least it wasn’t the day of the murder.”

“Can we get a search warrant for the factory?”

“I doubt it. There’s nothing to suggest she went inside. Is there?”

“Maybe.” Skye reached into her pocket and handed him the March schedule for the high school’s cheerleading practices. “Mom found this near the sidewalk in back of the factory.”

“That’s not enough to show she went inside, but tomorrow I will ask the Fines to let us look around.” He tilted his head. “I’m surprised you didn’t sneak in and take a peek this afternoon.”

“I would never do that, now that I’m with the police force.” Skye crossed her fingers and didn’t mention the factory’s elaborate security measures. Then she changed the subject. “Did you find out anything from your interviews after I left?”

“No, Quirk and the others couldn’t break anyone’s story. I’m still thinking it’s Jared. He had opportunity and he’s strong enough.”

“That’s means and opportunity, but what about motive?”

“Maybe Cherry was blackmailing him,” Wally suggested. “Now that we know about my father’s interest in buying Fine Foods, and his requirement that the company have a good moral character, that would make sense.”

“Any idea how to prove it?”

“No. I’m hoping that when the forensics come through, there’ll be something I can use.”

“Shoot. Our first unsolved case.” Skye frowned.

They were silent for a few minutes; then Wally asked, “Do you still want to go to Joliet for dinner?”

“No. It’s too late. By the time we drive back and forth that’s at least an hour and a half, say a couple hours for a movie and an hour for dinner and an hour to buy the phones—we wouldn’t be home until midnight, and I have school tomorrow.”

“Right. Let’s do it this weekend instead.”

Wally followed Skye into the kitchen.

She looked in the fridge, shook her head, and closed it. “I’m starving, but the cupboard’s bare. Unless you want me to whip up my prizewinning casserole.”

“Hey, congratulations, I heard you won. That’s great, but…”

“But you never want to taste that dish again. That’s okay; neither do I.”

“Phew.” Wally mimicked great relief. “I was afraid that since you had won, you’d want to make it all the time.”

“Right.” Skye snorted. “So, back to the age-old question—what shall we do for dinner?”

“How do Italian beef sandwiches sound?”

“Yummy. From where?”

“That place in Braidwood. Antonia’s.”

“Sounds good. Just let me put some lipstick on, and I’m ready.”

Wally dropped her off back home at ten. They had talked some more about Wally and his dad’s relationship. It seemed that Wally really was fine. Skye wished she could be that casual about the twisted branches of her family tree, but that would probably never happen.

She was exhausted, and for a second considered sleeping in the sunroom rather than climbing the stairs to bed, but the thought of trying to stretch out on the short love seat spurred her up the steps. Once she successfully made it to her bedroom, she fell across her mattress fully clothed. The next thing she knew her alarm was buzzing and Bingo was licking her nose. The workweek merry-go-round had begun, and she needed to move her butt, or her carousal horse would gallop away without her.

After more than a week off, school was crazy. She had only a few minutes to say hi to Trixie before Homer swept her into his office. He sat behind his desk and rubbed his beer belly as if he were about to give birth. The kids had several nicknames for him, including Nitpicker, Homie, Crapik, but Skye thought the most appropriate was Hairy.

Homer was the most hirsute man she had ever seen. Hair grew in tufts from his head, ears, and eyebrows, and covered
his body like a pelt. The principal’s habit of petting himself while he talked made it hard to concentrate during a conversation with him. Even after having worked with him for several years, Skye had to make a concerted effort not to stare as he stroked his furry forearms.

At first Homer drilled Skye about Ashley’s disappearance, the lawsuit, and other issues she had little or no control over, but finally he got to the real reason he had snatched her from the hallway—Mrs. Cormorant, the oldest teacher in the district and Homer’s archnemesis. “You won’t believe what Corny has done this time.”

“What?” At this point in her career Skye was ready to believe almost anything.

“She added a box in the comment section of the report cards.”

“Oh?” Skye was cautious in her reply. “I was under the impression that teachers were encouraged to write in additional remarks.”

“Not anymore. Last time she did it the parents sued us, so we discontinued the policy of allowing teachers to insert unapproved statements.” Homer ran his fingers through the clumps of hair sticking up from his scalp. “But that didn’t stop old Corny.”

“What comment did she add?”

“‘Shallow gene pool.’”

Skye held back a snort of laughter and tried to look serious when she said, “But report cards came out nearly a week ago. Why is this just coming up now?”

“Someone explained what the comment meant to the parents. Before some freaking Good Samaritan enlightened them, they thought the teacher wanted them to have their son swim in deeper water this summer.”

Skye bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from laughing. “I take it once the parents received this little nugget of wisdom, they were not amused.”

“They’re demanding an apology from the school and the teacher.”

“And my guess is Cormorant refuses to say she’s sorry.”
Homer nodded, and Skye went on, “And my second guess is that you want me to convince her.”

Homer nodded again.

“We’ve been through this before; Pru Cormorant does not like me. I am the wrong person to get her to do anything.”

“Hey, we all know her receiver is off the hook, but everyone else is afraid of her.”

“What makes you think I’m not?” Skye demanded.

“Anyone who has faced down as many murderers as you have should be able to handle one little old lady.”

“Except that she isn’t little, and she isn’t a lady.”

Homer took up another hour of her time whining about various other situations, then glanced at his watch and verbally shoved her out the door with the admonishment, “Remember, talk to Corny and make her see the light.”

As Skye walked away, she muttered, “I’d rather make the harridan go into the light than try to make her see it.”

Despite her grumbling, Skye had long since realized that it was easier to do what the principal told her to and get it over with, rather than argue. With this in mind she checked the master schedule and saw that Mrs. Cormorant was free for the next seventeen minutes. Perfect. By the time the next bell rang, the distasteful task would be done.

Pru Cormorant had one of the best classrooms in the building. It had actual walls—instead of folding curtains— windows, and even a door to the outside. Because of this it was a well-known fact that if the weather was nice she usually spent her planning periods on a lawn chair on the grass.

Skye found Pru there reading a spicy romance, which she quickly hid under a copy of
Moby-Dick
. Skye pretended not to notice, not that she cared what the other woman read, and said, “Hi, are you enjoying the sunshine?”

“Yes, it’s so nice to be able to pop out here during the day.” Pru’s watery blue eyes were malicious. “Your office doesn’t have a door to the outside, does it, dear?”

“No, but then, I’m usually too busy to notice.”

“Yes, I suppose you are.” Pru raised an overplucked
eyebrow. “The students nowadays aren’t like they were when I started at Scumble River High School.”

Skye bit her tongue to stop herself from asking what it was like to teach in the Stone Age, and instead said, “Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Homer asked me to see if you might have changed your mind about apologizing to those parents who were insulted by your comment on their son’s report card.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No, I haven’t changed my mind and I won’t.” Pru patted her stringy, dun-colored hair. “We need to stop coddling these parents. No Child Left Behind, my eye. Anyone with the slightest knowledge of the bell curve knows the largest portion of students are going to be average; then there’s going to be a certain number who are gifted, and, sadly, there are going to be an equal number who are dim-witted. The sooner the parents accept that not every child is going to Harvard or even to a community college, the better. Look at the poor Fines.”

“The Fines?” Skye had been letting Pru ramble, having heard her opinion on the subject before, but suddenly she tuned in. “You mean the family that owns Fine Foods? What about them?”

“They spent a fortune on tutors and donations getting those two boys through college.” Pru licked her thin lips. “At least they were satisfied when JJ got a BA in business, but they poured even more money into getting Brandon through law school.”

“But he got his degree, right?” Skye frowned. “Money is never wasted on an education.”

“He got his degree, all right, but it’s useless.”

“Why?”

“He can’t pass the bar exam.” Pru smiled meanly. “He’s tried and tried, even other states’ bar exams, but there’s only so much being rich can do for you. And buying you a license to practice law isn’t one of them.”

*  *  *

After leaving Pru, Skye checked with Frannie and Justin, as well as Ashley’s fellow cheerleaders. No one had heard from Ashley, and no one seemed particularly worried. They all claimed the girl was behind her own disappearance, and that she’d show up when she got bored, but Skye suspected the students knew more than they were saying—maybe not about where Ashley was, but about why she had disappeared.

The rest of the day whizzed by as Skye prepared for and attended both the junior high and the high school’s bimonthly Pupil Personal Services meetings. She was kept busy pulling and reading files, taking notes, and getting paperwork ready to start several reevaluations.

Students in special education had to be evaluated by the psychologist triennially, so every three years a third of the kids receiving services had to be tested. These assessments often took up the majority of a school psychologist’s time, and Skye was no exception.

When the final bell rang at three, Trixie Frayne burst through Skye’s door. Skye hurriedly finished filling in a cosent form, tucked it into its folder, and filed it away. She was anxious to talk to her friend, hoping Trixie would provide a fresh take on both the murder and the disappearance.

Trixie was the school librarian, cheerleading coach, and cosponsor of the student newspaper. She reminded Skye of a brownie—not the Girl Scout, the forest imp. She had short nut brown hair and cocoa-colored eyes, a size-four body, and high spirits.

Her first words were, “Why does everything exciting happen when I’m gone?”

Skye ignored Trixie’s question—Trixie had been involved in lots of Skye’s past adventures—and asked, “Did you have a romantic getaway?”

“Yes.” Trixie’s grin was lascivious. “Times like this weekend remind me why I married Owen. Woo, that man has stamina.”

“My number one criteria for a good husband,” Skye said dryly.

“Yeah, right.” Trixie sneered. “That’s why you dumped Mr. Nice for Mr. Hot.”

“We are so not going there.”

“You brought it up.” Trixie snatched a piece of Easter candy from the jar on Skye’s desk.

“Can we talk about something else, like our missing student and the murder?” Skye filled Trixie in on what she could about what Xenia had told her about Ashley, avoiding breaking confidentiality by a hair.

“Boy.” Trixie crossed her legs and dangled her pink highheeled sandal from her toe. “That girl is a pepperoni short of a pizza.”

“True,” Skye agreed, then gave Trixie the lowdown on the murder and Wally’s dad, concluding with, “It all seems to coalesce around the Fine Foods factory.”