Murder of the Cat's Meow: A Scumble River Mystery (23 page)

After the preliminaries, Skye said, “I’m sure you all know we’re here to talk about the game you played Saturday night.” The girls all nodded. “Can anyone tell me why we’re talking about that subject?”

“Like, because our parents are freaked out,” a bubbly redhead offered.

“True.” Skye’s voice was neutral. “Any other reason
you might find yourself in the psychologist’s office because of that activity?” She looked around.

“It’s dangerous and someone could have gotten hurt,” a bored-looking blonde recited in a monotone, her voice holding all the sincerity of a padded bra. “Now that we cleared up that little matter, can we go back to study hall? Some of us have homework to do.”

Skye ignored the blonde’s request. “I’m glad you realize that it’s an extremely risky game. Do you understand that one of you could have
died
?”

The blonde continued to gaze sullenly at Skye, although when Skye emphasized the word
died
, a flicker of comprehension caused the girl’s pupils to dilate.

“No senior trip. No prom. No graduation. No college. No career.” She checked out the girls’ reactions, then stressed,
“No life.”

Their expressions ranged from indifference to skepticism to surprise. One or two drew in a sharp breath and whispered to their neighbors.

“But that’s the stuff I figured your folks would have already discussed with you.” She leaned forward and made eye contact with each of the girls, one after another. “What I’d like to hear about is your feelings. What were you after when you decided to play the game, and what’s been your reaction to what has happened since your actions have become public?”

“We weren’t trying to kill ourselves, if that’s what you mean,” Bitsy protested. “We were just bored. We didn’t have a suicide pact or anything. ’Cause that’s only for pathetic losers.”

“Totally, dude.” Murmurs of agreement sounded from the others.

The redhead said, “Like, there’s never anything to do around here.” She pouted. “And, like, none of our parents will let us drive into Joliet or Kankakee by ourselves, which is, like, so bogus.”

Skye held her tongue. The redhead really needed likeosuction to suck that word
like
out of her vocabulary for good, but vocabulary was a matter for her English teacher to handle.

“Heidi read about it on the Internet.” Bitsy gestured to a quiet brunette. “So when we got sick of doing each other’s hair and nails, she told us about it. We looked it up and it seemed fun.”

Skye recognized Heidi from the book discussion group she had led last September, and remembered that the teen had mentioned moving to Scumble River when her dad married a local woman. As Skye recalled, the girl hadn’t been very happy with the home situation.

“And was it fun?” Skye asked, trying to inject interest rather than censure into her tone.

“Not really.” Bitsy seemed to have appointed herself spokesperson of the group. “If my mom hadn’t had a heart attack and gotten all uptight and called everyone’s parents, none of this would have happened.” Bitsy frowned. “It was, you know, awkward.”

“You feel your mother overreacted?” Skye asked. “And all the other parents as well? That you could have handled the situation on your own?”

“Definitely.” Bitsy nodded emphatically, her copper ringlets bouncing. “We would have learned a lesson from our experience.”

“I see.” Skye raised a brow. “Well, experience is an excellent teacher.” She paused, then added, “Too bad the homework she gives is so rough.”

“Truthfully”—Bitsy sighed— “we couldn’t quite figure out how to do it.”

“It’s my fault.” Heidi spoke up. “The others were ready to forget about it when I found a video on the Web. It showed someone using a belt and hanging themselves from the top of their closet door.”

“Is that what you used?” Skye asked, wondering how anyone thought something like that would be fun.

“Uh-huh.” The blonde still sounded like she would rather be doing calculus than talking to Skye. “I’m the lightest, so I said I’d try it.”

“Yeah.” Bitsy poked the other girl in the shoulder. “But you panicked when you started to lose consciousness. And when Ashley tried to help you, you kicked her in the stomach.”

“Then Ashley screamed,” Heidi said, “and Mrs. Kessler came running in. Once she saw what was going on, she went ballistic and yelled for Mr. Kessler.”

“And once Dad got involved”—Bitsy shook her head, a look of disgust on her face—“the whole thing became a freaking nightmare.”

Bitsy’s statement seemed to open the floodgates for the others, and all the girls began to chime in. Skye sat back, allowing the teenagers to talk, processing the events for themselves. She occasionally clarified or refereed, but mostly observed for the rest of the time.

There were three minutes left in the period when Bitsy whined, “I still say none of this is our fault and we shouldn’t be the ones in trouble.”

Skye hid her smile. “Why is that?” She’d been watching Bitsy, and it had taken her nearly forty-five minutes, but the girl had finally come up with an excuse. Skye couldn’t wait to hear it.

“If that guy at the door to the bowling alley would have let us in to hear the music, we wouldn’t have gotten so bored,” Bitsy explained.

“The bowler disco party didn’t start until ten, though, right?” Skye asked. “What time did you girls decide to play the game?”

“Like, an hour or so after we went back to Bitsy’s house,” the redhead volunteered. “But, like, I heard that
the music sucked. Someone said it was like the guy had never, like, deejayed before. So, like, no loss.”

“Totally,” the blonde agreed. “The
real
problem was that Bitsy’s mom and dad didn’t keep their promise to take us to Bolingbrook to play miniature golf and stuff at Wilderness Falls.”

“Yeah.” Bitsy shrugged. “They had some lame excuse about it being too cold and rainy, but they just didn’t want to have to do it.”

Before Skye could respond, the final bell rang. As the teenagers filed out of her office, she made sure the girls knew that she was available for an individual counseling session if they felt the need. None of them appeared eager to take her up on her offer.

Once she was alone, Skye closed her door, pulled her chair back around behind her desk, and called Homer. While she was assuring the principal that she was satisfied that the girls appeared to understand the consequences of such an unsafe game, and that their actions had arisen from boredom, not self-destructive tendencies, she quickly typed up a short note to that same effect to be sent to the girls’ parents.

Hanging up the phone, she clicked on the
PRINT
button. As she watched the printer spit out a dozen copies of her letter, it hit her.
That
was why her dad’s miniature-golfing adventure had been bugging her. She sagged back in her seat. Was it possible? Could she really have figured out where Elijah Jacobsen was hiding?

A
s Skye followed Trixie’s Civic out of town and into the countryside, she assessed her conclusion regarding Elijah’s whereabouts. Her first inclination had been to phone Wally with her idea, but she had hesitated. What if she was wrong? She hated to look stupid, or even worse, to waste everyone’s time.

She needed to start at the beginning and carefully think through her conclusion to see if it was logical. Elijah’s note had said he was going into the Wilderness—with a capital
W
—for forty days. At the time, she didn’t think the uppercase letter was important, but now she speculated that it might be extremely significant. Going into the wilderness was certainly a biblical reference, but going into the
Wilderness
could mean something else, as well.

A week or so ago, Skye had received a Valpak envelope in the mail. Even though the majority of the coupons were usually for businesses miles from Scumble River, she always flipped through them to see if any were local. Like her father, she loved a bargain.

In the packet, she remembered seeing a voucher for Wilderness Falls Family Fun Center. Had Elijah’s household
gotten the same coupons? And if so, had the name stuck in his mind?

Before Skye could decide if the notion was brilliant or ridiculous, she turned into the Fraynes’ driveway. By the time Skye stopped the Bel Air, Trixie was already out of her Honda and waiting impatiently by the Chevy’s door. The decision whether to tell Wally her idea or not would have to wait until after her talk with Owen.

Trixie pulled Skye from the car’s front seat. “Owen doesn’t usually come inside until five for supper.” She nodded at the white two-story home to her left. “You don’t want to wait in the house, do you?”

“Not really.” Skye tucked the car keys in her tote. “I’m in a little bit of a hurry. I have something to discuss with Wally, and—” She interrupted herself. “Did I mention Wally got called away on an emergency last night?”

Trixie shook her head.

“The bank alarm went off,” Skye explained. “And when he phoned to let me know that the problem turned out to be a bird that had flown into the window, he said we’d go talk to Ivan Quigley tonight.”

“That rich geezer from Brooklyn?”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Skye wrinkled her forehead. “But he’s not that old.”

“Geezerhood is bestowed on any guy who is somewhere between not young and not dead.” Trixie waved her hand in the direction of the garage, equipment shed, and barn. “Anyway, Owen’s probably somewhere around here. Let’s find him so you can get going.”

“Great.” Skye hoisted her bag onto her shoulder. “Which way?”

“We’ll start with the barn.” Trixie linked arms with Skye and they started walking.

Bales of hay were stacked along one end of the barn and stalls lined either side. Although the odor of the llamas
and emus lingered in the air, neither they nor their owner was present.

“If Owen isn’t with his precious livestock, he’s probably tinkering with his tractors.” Trixie led the way to the machine shed.

The shed’s only entrance was a towering door that opened by rolling it to the side. Together Trixie and Skye managed to shove the heavy panel open wide enough for them to squeeze through. The interior was a single cavernous room with corrugated-steel walls and a packed-dirt floor. Arranged in irregular rows were tractors, combines, threshers, and a variety of other equipment that Skye didn’t recognize, even though she was a farmer’s daughter.

They picked their way carefully down the center walkway, peering into the shadows cast by the enormous implements. Trixie called out Owen’s name, and a few seconds later he slid out from under a hulking metal machine. It was almost as if the huge tractor was giving birth.

“Hey.” He got to his feet and wiped his hands on the red bandana he took from his overall pocket. “Is it suppertime already?”

“Nope.” Trixie stood on tippy toes and gingerly kissed her husband’s grimy cheek. “But Skye’s in a hurry and she has a favor to ask you.”

“Sure.” He smiled, creating white creases in the dirt on his face. “What can I do for you?”

Skye explained the conflict between her wedding and the Fraynes’ cruise.

When she finished, he said, “I think we can fix that problem pretty easily.”

“Wonderful.” Skye felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from her chest.

“I only took the first date because Trixie always wanted to be away for Christmas and not have to deal
with both our families, but I know she wants to be in your wedding more than she wants to avoid the relatives during the holidays.” Owen winked at his wife. “The travel agent in town is real accommodating. In fact, she mentioned that she’s got a big group going that second week, and we could get an even better rate if we went then.”

“Thanks so much.” Skye patted Owen’s arm and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “I really appreciate you rescheduling your trip for me. My wedding wouldn’t be the same without you guys there.”

Ignoring his filthy state, Trixie hugged and kissed her husband soundly.

As Trixie and Skye walked back to the driveway, they talked about the wedding plans. While vetoing her friend’s idea of Christmas-themed decorations, Skye dug her cell out of her tote bag and tried to power it on.

“Heck.” She frowned at the little silver rectangle. “The battery’s dead. I keep forgetting to put it in the charger overnight.”

“Oh, well.” Trixie smiled. “At least you’re somewhere you can use a landline.” She beckoned to Skye. “Come on inside and use our phone.”

“Thanks.” Skye followed her friend into the house, down the hall, and into the kitchen. As she dialed, she said, “I hope Wally doesn’t think that what I’m about to tell him is as dumb as it sounds.”

Wally answered on the first ring, and listened without interrupting as Skye explained her theory about Elijah’s location. After a moment he said, “Don’t you think that’s sort of a stretch?”

“I do,” Skye admitted. “Believe me, I know how silly it sounds, but I figured I’d better let you make the decision whether to look there or not.”

“I understand,” Wally answered slowly, clearly wanting to think about what Skye had told him before committing himself to a plan of action.