Denise Swanson - Murder of a Small-Town Honey

Searching for something polite to say, Skye settled at last on, "How nice. My mom works as a police dispatcher."

Before Darleen could reply, Lloyd broke in. "Where are your assistants?"

"They're with the kids in their mainstream classes. Re­member, last year the PPS team decided to put the aides in regular classes to help the special ed kids?" She nervously smoothed her hair, which was a dull brown and cut as if a bowl had been placed on her head for a pattern.

"How about the nurse and the speech therapist? Surely they're not in the classrooms too? They should be around." Lloyd scanned the room as if the people he sought might be hiding behind the desks.

"Abby's in the health room, but I haven't seen Belle. She's probably at the elementary school." Darleen studied the poster she had just hung on the wall, not meeting Lloyd's eyes.

Turning to Skye, Lloyd asked in an affronted tone, "Did you meet Belle Whitney, the speech and language therapist, at the elementary school when you were there earlier?"

"Why, no, I spoke with the principal on Thursday, and she gave me a list of meetings. She ran out of time before she had a chance to show me around the school or intro­duce any of the faculty or staff."

Lloyd nodded in satisfaction.'"Let's pre'ss on, then. At least I can introduce you to the nurse."

"Could you show me where my office is, too?"

"It's on the way." A line appeared between Lloyd's eye­brows.

Skye moved closer to Darleen. "It was nice meeting you. Would it be convenient for me to come back this afternoon so we could discuss your program and how my services might fit in with it?"

Looking uneasily at Lloyd, Darleen's hazel eyes bulged alarmingly. "Sure. I'll be here until four. We can talk then. We don't want to keep Mr. Stark waiting."

As Skye followed Lloyd back toward the front of the school, she pondered Darleen's attitude. She appeared much more subservient, even fearful, than other special ed­ucation teachers Skye had met.

Skye was convinced that the room Lloyd indicated as her office had started life as a janitor's closet. Its window-less walls were painted an egg-yolk yellow, and the smell of ammonia made her sneeze when she pushed open the door. A battered desk and a single metal folding chair crowded the small room.

Turning to Lloyd, who was hovering outside the door­way, Skye said, "I don't see any secure area for confidential files. I'll need a locking file cabinet."

He scowled. "I suppose you'll have a whole list of things you absolutely have to have. Just remember we aren't a rich district like the one you came from."

Nodding, Skye said, "I understand, but I do need a place where files can be kept locked up." She aimed the next sug­gestion at his ego. "Maybe we could put them in your of­fice. Of course, I'll need a key."

"My office is not a storage facility. I'll make sure you get a cabinet." Lloyd took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped away the sweat that had suddenly appeared on his brow.

The health room was located beside the main office, but with a separate entrance. It was very small, with just enough room for a brown vinyl cot, a locked cabinet, a desk, and a chair.

Lloyd was standing in the doorway tapping his foot when Skye caught up to him. He moved to one side and gestured for her to go in. "Abby, this is Skye Denison, our new school psychologist. Skye, this is Abby Fleming, our district's school nurse."

With that statement Lloyd walked away, saying over his shoulder, "You two talk, I'll see you both at the PPS meet­ing tomorrow."

"Wait—we haven't even discussed my duties yet." Be­fore Skye could follow, Lloyd closed his office door.

His voice came from behind the glass panel. "Talk to my secretary. She'll give you a schedule. I'll be busy the rest of the day."

Skye stared after him as if she were waking from a nightmare, and then turned to Abby, hoping for a friendly reaction. "Tell me this is unusual for him. He's under a lot of pressure, right?"

Abby looked Skye over before indicating that she should take a seat on the cot. "No, I'm afraid he's always like that."

Skye examined Abby carefully. She was everything Skye would like to be—five feet ten and built like an ath­lete. Her white skirt showed off her tanned, muscular legs to advantage and was paired with a tucked-in navy polo shirt and spotless white tennis shoes". More striking than pretty, she was the kind of woman who would fit in better at a health club than a cocktail party. Skye knew her brother had been going out with Abby, and now she understood why—Vince always had been attracted to physical perfec­tion.

As silence once again threatened to engulf her, Skye wondered if everyone in this school was the quiet type. Scrambling for a topic of conversation, slie searched the bare walls for inspiration. Finding none, she remarked, "So, you're dating my brother?"

Hearing no response, Skye leaned forward. "Vince, Vince Denison is my brother."

"Yes, I know." Abby tucked a strand of long white-blond hair behind her tortoiseshell headband.

Rearranging her skirt and smoothing her own hair, Skye waited for Abby to continue. When she didn't speak, and gave no indication that she intended to, Skye scooted to­ward the end of the cot. "Have you worked here long?"

Abby nodded. Set against the fairness of her brows and lashes, her large aquamarine eyes dominated her face.

Smiling her encouragement, Skye waited, although Abby's persistent silence was beginning to get on her nerves. Abby did not look up; instead she began filing her nails.

Skye waited a while longer, then stood up. "It is obvious to me, that despite Lloyd's suggestion that we talk, that we have very little to say to each other. I think it would be best if I left you to your busy schedule." At this Skye stared sig­nificantly at the empty desktop.

She paused with her hand on the knob. "Sorry to have taken up so much of your time."

Abruptly, Abby burst out laughing. Skye was sure this was going to be her first nutcase at her new job and was frantically trying to recall how to react to hysteria.

Before Skye could act, Abby regained her composure. "Boy, Vince really has you pegged."

"Pardon me?" Skye responded stiffly.

"Chill. Sit back down. Relax. Vince told me nothing would drive you crazier than for me not to talk to you." Abby got up and tried to take Skye by the arm.

"What?" She shook off Abby's hand.

"Vince said that ever since you were children everyone has always confided in you. He claimed even strangers come up and spill their guts."

"So?"

"When he asked me to test out his theory, I figured, What the heck? What would you do if I didn't respond as you're used to having people respond? If someone you were expecting to be friendly wasn't? Vince knew you'd ei­ther get angry or cry. He thought you'd get angry; I voted for cry."

"You're telling me you were willing to make me cry just to test out my brother's silly theory? That's a pretty sadistic thing to do to someone you don't even know. I've always suspected that nurses enjoyed giving those painful injec­tions." Skye held her temper with great difficulty.

Abby patted Skye's knee. "You're right, of course. It was a mean joke, and I apologize. I guess I wasn't thinking about it from your point of view. I'm not very good about putting myself in other people's shoes. But do you realize how hard it is on Vince, being the brother of Miss Perfect?"

"Now what are you talking about?" Skye's head was be­ginning to ache.

"Don't be modest; You were a straight-A student, never got into any trouble. You not only went to college but also to graduate school, not to mention your noble sacrifice when you joined the Peace Corps. Let's face it—you are every-

one's darling, and now you've moved back home. How would you like to be the older, less successful sibling?"