"Murder of a Sweet Old Lady" - читать интересную книгу автора (Swanson Denise)

CHAPTER 7

Three, Four, the Cousins Are Sore

Skye pushed open the door of Scumble River Elementary School. The principal, Mrs. Greer, was waiting in the hallway. She was a tiny woman with a puff of white hair, dressed in a soft pink suit. They walked to the office without speaking and closed the door. Mrs. Greer sat in a royal-blue wing chair and indicated that Skye should take its companion.

It was obvious to Skye that Mrs. Greer had spent her own money fixing up her office. The Queen Anne-style desk was mahogany and the cream-colored walls were hung with quality reproductions.

Picking up a file, Mrs. Greer said, “Perry Underwood is a first grader who receives assistance from the special education teacher and the speech therapist. He began receiving services when he was three and attended a special education preschool until this year. He transferred to Scumble River Elementary last fall.”

Skye nodded. “Yes, I’ve observed him in Mrs. Hopkins’ room. He has a language disorder that makes it difficult for him to process what is said to him and almost impossible for him to communicate complex thoughts.”

“Exactly. Have you met his parents?”

“No, the special ed coordinator from the co-op held the intake staffing without me. All I’ve done is review his file and take a look at him in class.”

“Well, supposedly Perry was involved in a dreadful fight yesterday in the hallway on the way to lunch. I had the school nurse look at him, and Abby says there’s not a mark on him.”

Before Skye could reply, there was a knock and Fern Otte, the school secretary, peeked around the door. “The Underwoods are here.”

“Send them in.” Mrs. Greer stood and ushered the couple inside, seating them on the blue-and-cream brocade sofa facing the chairs. “Would you like some coffee, tea, or a soft drink?”

They refused. While Mrs. Greer made introductions, Skye sized up the couple across from her. Mr. Underwood was dressed in fatigues and his brown hair was cut in a military-style crew cut. His wife wore cargo pants tucked into commando boots and an olive drab T-shirt. Both sat at attention.

Mrs. Greer settled back into her chair and tilted her head toward Mr. Underwood. “You asked to see us regarding your son, Perry.”

“Yes,” Mr. Underwood said. “I’ve taught my son to take care of himself, but he was ambushed yesterday by three boys. He managed to defeat them and give them a good thrashing, but I’m concerned about the security in your hallways.”

“I spoke to his teacher. She says the boys weren’t in the hall long enough to have the type of fight you describe. Could Perry be exaggerating?” Mrs. Greer smiled kindly at both parents.

“No.” Mr. Underwood clenched his cap in his hand. “My boy doesn’t lie. Your teacher doesn’t want to admit she’s at fault.”

Fixing him with a steady gaze, Mrs. Greer said, “My teachers don’t lie either.” She let silence prevail before continuing. “Setting that aside for a moment, your son doesn’t have a scratch on him.”

“I told you he’s been taught to take care of himself. It’s the other kids who got hurt, not Perry.” Mr. Underwood puffed out his chest.

“There are no injured students in any of the first-grade classrooms. And none of the children recall anything happening yesterday beyond the regular hallway pushing and shoving.” Mrs. Greer did not yield eye contact.

“Kids stick together.”

“None of the teachers in the surrounding classrooms heard any commotion in the hall.”

“They want to keep their jobs,” Mr. Underwood said. “I know my boy.”

Skye leaned toward the parents. “We’re not saying that Perry lied. Everyone’s perception of reality is slightly different and your son has a severe problem with the usage and comprehension of language, which makes his understanding even more dissimilar than those around him. Maybe this is no more than a misunderstanding.”

“What?” Mr. Underwood frowned.

“Can you recall the exact words Perry used when he told you about the fight?” Skye asked.

The Underwoods looked at each other and shook their heads.

“Think back now. What was his manner like? Excited? Scared?”

Mrs. Underwood spoke for the first time. “At first, I thought he seemed happy.”

“So, could it have been that the three boys included him in their group and the play was a little rough?” Skye held her breath.

Mrs. Underwood started to nod, but her husband shot her a censorious look and she turned it into a cough.

Skye directed her next remark to the woman. “I’m wondering if maybe the speech pathologist, Mrs. Whitney, might be able to help you understand what Perry is saying a little better.”

Mr. Underwood’s face closed. “We don’t need an outsider interpreting for us. We understand Perry good enough.”

“But-” Skye was cut off as the Underwoods rose to their feet.

“I told you it was a conspiracy,” Mr. Underwood hissed into his wife’s ear. “They’ve got the whole incident buried deeper than the real identity of Kennedy’s assassin.”

When the door closed behind them, Skye let out a big sigh. “That felt like an episode of the Twilight Zone.”

Nodding, Mrs. Greer leaned back in her chair. “This is a good example of why you should have all your ducks in a row before meeting with parents. They’re so sure of themselves they can almost convince you that you’re mistaken.”

“You were great. I think handling the parents is the hardest part of the job. It’s so difficult for them to admit that their children could ever be in the wrong.”

“We make a good team. I take them down with facts, and you give them something to go home and think about.”

Reflecting upon the meeting, Skye asked, “Are Mr. and Mrs. Underwood in the military?”

“No. They’re a part of that survivalist group that bought some of that land from the mining company and moved in all the trailers and mobile homes.”

“Oh, the ones up against the back forty of my grandmother’s land.” Skye narrowed her eyes. “She had a lot of trouble with those people-trespassing and hunting near the house. Maybe I should go visit the Underwoods. I’m concerned that they have such a bad opinion of the school.”

Skye was almost safely to her car when her cousins struck. Ginger and Gillian surrounded her and started haranguing her before she could speak.

Ginger was first. “We’re tired of you causing trouble in the family.”

“You always have to be the center of attention, but you’ve gone too far this time.” Gillian poked Skye in the chest with her index finger.

“What are you two talking about?” Skye edged closer to the Buick.

“Oh, no you don’t.” Each twin took an arm and forced Skye to walk with them.

Although Skye had several pounds on each of them, combined they were a force to be reckoned with. Skye’s thoughts were mixed. She didn’t want to create a scene in the school parking lot. All she needed was for it to get around that she was punching it out with her cousins. But this was getting a little scary.

“Where are you taking me?” They didn’t answer. “Look, this isn’t funny.”

When the trio reached Ginger’s van, they shoved Skye into the open back door and Gillian climbed in beside her. After Gillian slammed the sliding panel shut, Ginger walked around to the other side, climbed into the driver’s seat, and started the motor.

Skye tried again. “What’s going on? This is just silly.”

Ginger put the TranSport in gear and squealed out of the parking lot.

“I’m sure we can work this out like civilized human beings.” Skye was losing her initial feeling of annoyance and beginning to get alarmed.

“Relax,” Gillian said. “We just want to talk to you, alone and uninterrupted.”

They drove out of Scumble River, passed Skye’s parents’ place, and seemed to be headed for their grandmother’s farm when Ginger slowed and pulled into a driveway obscured with weeds. It was the old Leofanti homestead that had been destroyed by the tornado.

The twins climbed out of the van and Skye followed, after checking the ignition to see if Ginger had left the keys. She hadn’t.

“Now what?” Skye asked.

“We want to know what’s going on with Grandma,” Gillian said, settling on a concrete block. The foundation and chimney of the old farmhouse were the only reminders that there had ever been a building in that spot.

“The last I heard, Simon ordered an autopsy,” Skye answered. “That takes a few days. After they determine a cause of death they’ll release the body. Then we’ll have the wake and funeral as usual.”

“Grandma died of old age. She was eighty, for heaven’s sake. You’re just making it harder on all of us by refusing to admit that, and making us go through all this mumbo jumbo with the police,” Ginger said.

“You would have never gotten your own way on this if you weren’t dating the coroner. Which, by the way, is pretty pathetic in itself.” Gillian stood and crossed her arms.

“Whether you two like it or not, Grandma was murdered. I’m sorry if it isn’t convenient for you.” Skye turned on Gillian. “And it would be a real good idea to leave my relationship with Simon out of this, or I might be forced to examine your marriage a little closer.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Gillian screeched and started toward Skye.

“Let’s just say I’ve heard things about Irvin that make me think he’s a real prince-only spelled differently.” Skye refused to back down.

Gillian raised her hand and swung at Skye, who grabbed her by the wrist and twisted it to the right. Gillian howled in pain.

“Try not to forget that I’ve had training in takedowns for uncontrollable kids.” Skye stepped back.

Ginger joined her twin. “This isn’t getting us anywhere. Skye, this whole murder investigation not only gets everyone in town talking about us, but it also holds up getting the estate divided.”

“Yeah,” Gillian added, “just because you already have the Leofanti emerald ring doesn’t mean the rest of us wouldn’t like our share. I still think it’s a bunch of crap that the ring goes to the oldest female. We’re only ten months younger than you and we have children to pass it down to.” Gillian’s face was red and her lank blond hair hung in clumps.

“Interesting. Do you both agree that the emerald shouldn’t go to the oldest female?” Skye looked between the twins, then focused on Ginger. “Or does Gillian just think that because her daughter is a few months younger than your daughter?”

Ginger gave her twin a speculative look, but before she could speak Gillian said, “Never mind. Leave Kristin and Iris out of this. The real money is in the land itself. And now because of your interfering, getting everything settled will take forever.”

“So? What’s the rush? The grandchildren won’t get anything anyway. Mom says everything’s in a trust.” Skye looked puzzled.

“Well, maybe your folks don’t need the money, but ours do.” Ginger walked over and leaned on the van.

“Shut up!” Gillian yelled. “Are you stupid? Don’t tell her anything.”

Ginger scowled. “Then we’re back to square one. Why are you so sure Grandma was murdered?”

“I can’t tell you that,” Skye said. “Chief Boyd has asked me not to discuss it.”

“Fine, then on your long walk home you just think about where your loyalties should lie.” Gillian hopped into the front seat of the TranSport.

Ginger climbed into the driver’s seat. Skye hurried to the side panel and was just in time to hear the lock click into place. The vehicle pulled out in a cloud of dust, leaving Skye with her hand still reaching for the handle.

Sighing, she glanced at her canvas sandals. They were already stained from the morning’s excursion through the wilds of Grandma’s backyard and their two-inch wedge heels were not made for hiking.

Skye peered inside her purse for anything that might be helpful, but since she was carrying only a small shoulder bag there was nothing useful. Her gaze swept the fields. Not a soul in sight. She was going to have to walk.

At the end of the driveway she turned onto the main road. Sweat poured from her face as she concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. Boy, I thought I was in better shape than this. This is pathetic. I bet I haven’t even walked a mile in half an hour.

Her breathing was so loud she didn’t hear the car until it pulled up beside her. The black Mustang convertible gleamed in the sunlight. Trixie Frayne sat in the driver’s seat. “What happened? Need a ride?”

“You’re a lifesaver. I don’t think I could have taken another step.” Skye slid gingerly into the passenger side.

As Skye sagged against the seat, she explained to Trixie about her grandmother’s death and what had happened with the twins.

Trixie whistled. “Those cousins of yours are wild. Remember how they used to trade clothes and try to trick your grandmother when she babysat for them?”

“Yes, they tried that on their teachers too, but Grandma fixed their wagon. After they traded identities one too many times, she grabbed them both and put a big red Magic Marker dot on Gillian’s forehead and a matching black circle on Ginger.” Skye smirked. “It took a week for those marks to wear off. Everybody and his uncle asked them what had happened. By the end, even I felt kind of sorry for them.”

Trixie giggled. “With the way they used to torment you whenever your mothers made the three of you play together, I’m surprised you’d feel any sympathy toward those two.”

“One of my many character flaws,” Skye joked.

“What are you going to do about them kidnapping you?”

“Nothing. What can I do, tell their mommy?” Skye looked disgusted.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. But maybe sometime, someplace you’ll get a chance to get even, and I’d love to be there.” Trixie’s grin was wicked. “Anyway, where can I take you? Home?”

“No, my car’s at school. I hope I’m not keeping you from anything.” Skye examined the blister on her heel.

“Nothing. I was just taking a ride.” Trixie put the Mustang in gear.

“This is a beautiful vehicle. I can see why you’d like driving around.” Skye ran an admiring hand over the upholstery.

“I bought it for my thirtieth birthday. Owen wanted me to get a minivan.”

Both women looked at each other and said, “Men.”

The twins’ little detour had cost Skye a lot of time. It was nearly six o’clock when she turned off the Buick’s ignition and exited the car in front of her cottage. She immediately noticed something was wrong.

Broken glass littered the area around the house. The foyer and kitchen windows were shattered. Circling the house, Skye saw there was not one intact pane left on the building. She started inside, but stopped before crossing the threshold. Seizing Bingo, who had come to the door to greet her, she backed toward her car, checked the backseat for intruders, and slid inside.

After locking the doors, she sat for a moment to catch her breath. Skye was surprised to find herself shaking. Suddenly, the privacy she valued in her home’s secluded location seemed like a threatening isolation. She backed the Buick onto the road and headed toward the police station.

Skye knew her mother wasn’t working and she figured that Chief Boyd would have already left for the day, so she wasn’t sure if she’d know anyone on duty.

The dispatcher was a stranger to her. Skye couldn’t believe the woman was above the twenty-one years of age required for the job. Her name tag read “Crystal.”

Taking a deep breath and smoothing her hair, Skye spoke across the counter. “Hello, my name is Skye Denison and I need to report some vandalism to my home.”

Crystal wrinkled her forehead “Like, okay, ma’am, but the, uhm, officer is out patrolling.”

“Could you radio for him to come in? I’ll wait.” Skye frowned. Ma’am? Do I look like a ma’am? How old does she think I am? I’ll never go to bed without putting on my face lotion again.

“Uhm, well, okay, but it could be a while.” Crystal sat down in front of her console and grimaced.

Skye took a seat in the cracked vinyl bench provided for those who had business with the police.

Only a few minutes had gone by and she was rummaging in her purse for something to eat, having missed lunch and not yet had dinner, when the door was flung open.

Officer Quirk marched past her and leaned across the counter. “Crystal, how many times have you been told not to mention names on the radio?”

Crystal chewed on a nail. “Sorry, I forgot.” Her face darkened. “Like, there are too many rules and things to remember. This is way harder than my last job.”

Quirk seemed to see Skye for the first time. “Her last job was of the fast-food variety,” he said. “She told us it was too much pressure.”

Skye followed Quirk to the back of the station into a room with a table and chairs. “So why did she get hired here? She’s obviously a few fries short of a Happy Meal.”

Quirk grabbed a pen and a clipboard with a pad of forms attached, then sat at the table. “Did you catch her full name?”

Sitting across from him, Skye pursed her lips. “No. What is it?”

“Clapp, Crystal Clapp.”

“That’s awful. So she was hired out of pity?” Skye arched a brow.

“No, she was hired out of self-preservation. Eldon Clapp, our beloved mayor, is her father.” Quirk sat back, his leather utility belt squeaking. “Now what can I do for you, Ms. Denison?”

Skye explained about the windows and reminded him that earlier in the week her tires had been slashed.

“Sounds like you’ve got an enemy. Can you think of anyone who would want to harass you?” Quirk didn’t look up from the form he was filling out.

Her mind flew to the Yoders, Hap Doozier, and the Underwoods before flitting briefly to the twins and her Uncle Dante. She took a deep breath. “Would you like the list alphabetically or divided by family versus workplace?”