Denise Swanson - Murder of a Sleeping Beauty

Skye swallowed hard and forced her voice to remain steady. She could not afford to break down. “The students who remain in the cafeteria will be counseled by me, the school nurse, and the librarian. As the need arises, we will break into even smaller groups or see kids individually. I’m hoping that some social workers or psychologists from the co-op will arrive this afternoon. When that happens, if any of you would like to talk to someone, please feel free. Of course, if you need to see someone before then, find me, and we’ll speak with you immediately.”

Most of the teachers looked as numb as Skye felt. Some had tears rolling down their cheeks. Skye asked, “Any questions?”

After dealing with the usual queries about who should say what to the students’ questions, Skye dismissed the faculty. There were two more things she had to do before the day officially started. She wanted to ask the secretary to get some coffee, soft drinks, donuts, and snacks for the counseling rooms. And she had to call Wally and find out if a cause of death had been established. How was usually the first thing teens wanted to know. Too bad that question was followed closely by why , something that the adults could never answer.

CHAPTER 4

More Than Meets the Lie

The students filed silently into the cafeteria. There was none of the joking, laughter, or raised voices Skye had come to expect at an assembly. They found seats on the benches, without the usual fuss of who sat next to whom, and stared forward. Skye felt as if she were about to address the Stepford children.

She walked nervously to the front of the room, near the window where food trays were usually handed out. The pea-green cinder-block walls were hung with posters advertising the seven basic food groups and nutritionally balanced meals. Many had been altered with Magic Marker and teenage wit. Skye blinked; was that supposed to be a condom on that banana?

A heavy odor of Tater Tots and hot dogs hung in the airless room. Skye opened her mouth, but found she couldn’t remember what she had meant to say. The eerie silence and concentrated stares were making her nervous.

This was one of the many tough parts of her job. She had to keep her own emotions in check in order to create an atmosphere in which the students would feel safe to expose their feelings. Teens only felt secure if the adults around them exhibited a calm, unruffled, it’s-all-being-handled type of demeanor.

With an effort, she pulled herself together and began, “As many of you know, my name is Ms. Denison, and I’m the school psychologist.” Skye smiled slightly and nodded at several students she recognized. “I’m sure you’ve all heard the sad news—Lorelei Ingels was found dead yesterday on the school stage. We don’t know the cause of death, but we will share that information with you as soon as we do find out. There is no reason to believe that she suffered, or that there is any danger to anyone else.”

Skye studied the faces in front of her. Most of the teens were staring back at her. She could hear whispers starting as she continued, “In a few minutes Mr. Knapik will ring the bell, and everyone should go to their first-hour classes. Anyone who feels too upset should stay here and we’ll talk some more.”

After the teens were dismissed, Skye did a quick count of how many were left. About forty kids remained seated. They ranged from clumps of eight or ten, to single students hunkered by themselves.

Forty was far too many for an effective group intervention. She’d have to divide them among the helpers she had available. Weighing the personalities involved, Skye resolved to give Abby the least upset kids. The school nurse tended to be a bit clinical, which would be appropriate for the teens who would be fine as soon as they could sort out the experience in their minds.

Trixie was a great listener. She could take the kids who were upset more with the idea of someone dying than with Lorelei’s death in particular.

Skye would take Lorelei’s closest friends—the cheerleaders, the drama crowd, and the student council.

“Okay, in a little bit we’ll divide up into three groups. Mrs. Frayne will take some of you to the library to talk, Ms. Fleming’s bunch will go to the music room, and the rest will come with me to the guidance office.”

Skye scanned the crowd. How to decide who was the least upset? She shrugged. Maybe this wasn’t the correct way to approach this crisis, but it was all she could think of. She hadn’t been given much training for this type of incident. “Before we break into groups, I’d like you each to tell me a little bit about how you knew Lorelei.”

Three girls were clustered together at the front table. One with short blond curls met Skye’s gaze and lifted an eyebrow. Skye pointed to her. “Would you go first?”

“I was her best friend. We were co-captains of the cheerleading squad.”

Skye thought she heard a small voice say, “Lorelei let you be her assistant. You were never the co-captain.”

It was interesting how quickly people jumped in to get their version across. Skye dipped her head to the two other girls. “Were you on the squad, too?”

They nodded and whispered.

That triad would come with Skye.

A muscular young man sitting with two other guys caught Skye’s attention next, and she walked over to them. “And how did you know Lorelei?”

His voice cracked when he answered, “She was my girlfriend.”

“I’m so sorry.” This boy would probably be the chief mourner. She would have to watch him closely. “Are these your friends?” Skye indicated the teens flanking him.

“Yes, we’re on the football team together.”

My group, too. She worked her way through the rest of the kids. The last girl sat by herself in the back, staring into space and looking out of place among the ultraslim blondes who had been in Lorelei’s inner circle. She had a voluptuous figure and long, wavy brown hair. It took Skye several tries to get the girl’s attention.

Finally, the loner said, “I’m no one. Lorelei didn’t know I was alive.”

Skye looked at her quizzically.

The girl rose from her seat. Her brown eyes blazed. “I hated her. I’m glad she’s dead.”

It was close to ten-thirty by the time Skye left the guidance office. Several of the students had asked for individual sessions. She was heading for the faculty lounge and the staff bathroom when Opal Hill, the school secretary, came flying down the hall. Normally Opal reminded Skye of a mouse, but today, dressed all in black, she looked more like a bat.

“Oh, thank goodness I found you. Mr. Knapik is in with the coordinator from the co-op and has ordered me not to disturb them, but the police are here. What should I do?”

“Tell Homer immediately.”

“No, I can’t.”

“Well, I can.” Skye marched toward the office, trailed by the secretary.

Wally, Officer Quirk, and two other Scumble River policemen were standing in the main office. Skye walked past them, ignoring their words, and knocked on Homer’s door. No answer. She knocked again and leaned her head against the wood. Not a sound. She tried the door. It opened easily, but no one was in the room.

Skye turned to Wally. “Did you see Homer leave this office?”

The chief shook his head. “No, but we don’t need him. Just give us the class lists, and we’ll pull the students we need to talk to.”

Skye ignored Wally and tried Opal. “Was Homer in his office when the police arrived and you left to get me?”

The secretary nodded.