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“Hello?” Wally’s silky baritone brought her back to the present.

“Hi, sweetie.” Skye flipped open her calendar and asked, “Do you need me at the station this afternoon for the Hucksford case?”

“Not yet.” Wally’s voice was strained. “Until the ME and crime-scene tech’s preliminary reports are in, there’s nothing much to do. Once we get those, I’ll have a better idea where to aim the investigation.”

“Speaking of the CST, are they still processing the gym?” Skye noted the appointments she needed to cancel for tomorrow and closed the planner.

“They called and told me that they finished about twenty minutes ago,” Wally answered. “The gym, locker rooms, and pool area are once again available for the school’s use.”

“Good.” Skye sent Homer a quick e-mail as she asked, “Do you know if you’ll be working late?”

“I doubt it.” Wally sighed. “Best-case scenario, the ME and CST get back to me tomorrow, but it could be the day after or even longer. I hate not being able to do more while the trail is fresh, but I don’t want to talk to the vic’s friends or colleagues until after I get ahold of her parents.”

“You haven’t reached them yet?” Skye asked.

Holding the receiver between her ear and shoulder, she sent e-mails to the elementary and junior high principals informing them of the high school emergency and of her absence from their buildings the next day. Both
women would be unhappy, and she fully expected a call or two of complaint. Each principal thought her school deserved the majority of Skye’s time and attention.

“I had to leave a voice mail,” Wally said. “Blair’s emergency contact number in the school’s file turned out to be a landline.”

“And both parents probably work.” Skye gathered her things. It was time to make a run for her car. “Blair was in her late twenties, so her folks might only be in their midforties or early fifties.”

“Right.” Wally spoke to someone, then said, “I’ve got to go. I’ll call you if I’m going to be later than five thirty. Love you.”

“Love you, too.” Skye smiled, absurdly pleased that Wally had started to end all their conversations by declaring his affection. “Bye.”

Skye hefted her tote bag over her shoulder, turned off the lights, and slipped into the deserted hallway. It was nearly half past four, and the teachers were allowed to leave at 3:35. There must not have been any after-school activities or detentions today, because the corridor was empty and the building was silent.

By heading out the back exit, she was able to avoid passing the library, so if Trixie was still around, she wouldn’t see her. Skye warily looked both ways as she stepped outside. Once she was on the grass, she hurried toward her car, rummaging through her purse as she walked.

Heck!
She should have had the keys in her hand before she left her office.
Ah.
There they were. Triumphantly, she fished the ring from the bottom of her bag, lifted her head, and shrieked.

“Surprised to see me?” Trixie stood, blocking Skye from the T-bird.

“What are you doing here?” Skye glanced around. Trixie’s Honda wasn’t anywhere near where Skye had parked. “Are you having car trouble?”

“Nope.” Trixie poked Skye in the chest. “I’m having friend trouble.”

“Oh.” Skye backed up. “I have no idea to what you’re referring.”

“Sure you don’t.” Trixie snickered. “I can always tell when you have a guilty conscience because you suddenly start using impeccable grammar.”

“Are you saying that I usually don’t speak well?” Skye edged around her pal, opened the driver’s door, and threw her tote bag and purse on the passenger seat. “I’ll have you know that I minored in English and never received less than an A in those classes.”

“Don’t try to change the subject.” Trixie grabbed Skye’s arm before she could slip into the car. “You’re not getting away that easily.”

“Sorry.” Skye shook off her friend’s hand. “But I really have to run.”

“Not so fast.” Trixie threw herself between Skye and the T-bird.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Skye hip-checked her BFF. At times like this, being taller and heavier than the tiny librarian came in handy.

“You’re not leaving until you talk to me.” Trixie moved behind the car.

“Seriously, I need to leave,” Skye stalled, wondering if there was room to drive forward instead of backing out of the space.

“I hear Blair Hucksford was murdered.” Trixie smiled in triumph and hopped on the trunk. She patted the blue metal surface next to her and said, “Sit down and tell me everything.”

CHAPTER 9

FAQ—Frequently Asked Questions

“S
on of a buck!” Wally’s frustration hissed through the Thunderbird’s interior like a drop of oil on a hot cast-iron pan.

Skye held her cell phone away from her ear, waiting for him to stop swearing and calm down. As soon as she’d escaped from Trixie’s interrogation, she’d driven into town, parked, and immediately phoned Wally—who was now ranting about loose lips sinking ships.

Dodging most of Trixie’s questions, Skye had admitted only to finding Blair’s body and being the one to call 911. Since she had no idea who wanted Blair dead or why the teacher was killed, she had been able to honestly tell her BFF that she didn’t have any inside knowledge about the murder.

Oops!
Wally had finally stopped cursing, and there was now an ominous silence coming from her phone, so Skye quickly said, “According to Trixie, no one else knows about Blair, and I pinkie swore her to secrecy. But I thought I’d better warn you that there was a leak, and to be prepared.”

“How on God’s green earth did she find out the victim’s identity?”

“Apparently, in the name of research for the book she’s writing, Trixie has cozied up to the ME’s administrative assistant, aka his wife.”

Skye was sitting in front of the dry cleaner’s, and as she talked to Wally, she watched a woman maneuvering a gigantic stroller over the business’s threshold and through the narrow doorway. The baby’s screams could be heard through the T-bird’s closed windows.

Putting her hand on her stomach, she wrinkled her brow. Although she’d considered many aspects of motherhood, she’d never really thought about the everyday difficulties of navigating life completely responsible for another human being’s every need. Suddenly it seemed like a really tough job, and she wasn’t sure she was up to the challenge.

“Don’t that just beat all?” Wally interrupted Skye’s thoughts. “You buy ’em books and you buy ’em books and they’re still so ignorant they just chew on the covers.”

Skye’s lips quirked upward. She loved it when her husband reverted to his roots and started speaking like the Texas boy he was at heart.

“I’m about to put a rattlesnake in that doc’s pocket and ask him for a quarter.” Wally ground his teeth so loudly Skye could hear it. “All those precautions and we’re done in by pillow talk.”

“On the good-news front, when Mrs. ME phoned Trixie, she had just finished typing her husband’s preliminary report.” Skye tried to cheer up Wally. “Once her husband signed off on it, she planned to send the report to you right away. Have you checked your e-mail recently?”

“Not in the last half hour.” Wally paused, and Skye could hear the clicking sound of him typing on his computer keyboard. A few seconds later, he said, “Yep. It’s here.”

“That’s a relief.” Skye dug through her purse, looking for the receipt for her dry cleaning. “Have Blair’s parents contacted you yet?”

“No.” Wally grunted. “But they live in California, so they’re two hours behind us. It’s only two forty-five there, which means they’re probably not home from work yet. I left my cell number on their machine because I didn’t want to have to hang around the PD, waiting for them to call me.”

“Good.” Skye got out of the Ford. “Then I’ll let you go so that you can read the ME’s report.” She walked across the sidewalk and through the Clean Bee’s door. Just before clicking off her cell, she said, “I’m running some errands, but I’ll see you at home about five thirty.”

Warm solvent-scented air washed over her as Skye entered the dry cleaner’s. She got into the back of the line and looked around. It was the after-work rush, and five customers were in front of her. As she waited, she mindlessly stared at the back of the guy directly ahead of her. After a couple of minutes, she noticed that the white printing on his black T-shirt was superimposed over a bright red volleyball and read, S
CUMBLE
R
IVER
S
TILETTOS. 2006
C
LASS 5
A C
HAMPIONS.

The man was in his early forties, wearing jeans and a baseball cap. Skye chewed her thumbnail. She was fairly certain that the championship shirts weren’t widely available for sale, which meant that he was probably a parent of one of the players. She tilted her head, considering. Or at least a big supporter of the team.

Noting that the line was stalled by a woman who couldn’t find her receipt or, apparently, even remember exactly what clothing she’d brought in to be cleaned, Skye managed to catch Mr. T-shirt’s eye and said, “Gee, I sure hope this doesn’t take too long. I stayed late at school to get some work done and now I’m running behind schedule.”

“Are you a teacher at the high school? I don’t think I’ve seen you at the PTO meetings.” He smiled. “My daughter’s a junior.”

“I’m the district psychologist.” Skye fished a card from the outer pocket of her purse and handed it to him. “I work at all three buildings.”

“Ah. That’s why we haven’t met.” The man shook his head. “My Roxy hasn’t needed your services. She’s well-adjusted, and she always makes the honor roll.”

“Grades like those are quite an accomplishment. You must be thrilled for her.” Skye pointed to his shirt. “And I’m guessing she’s also on the volleyball team.”

“She’s the captain.” He hitched up his pants and beamed proudly. “She’s up for a scholarship at Southwest Illinois University.”

“Wow! That’s terrific.” Skye nodded enthusiastically, then asked, “Are there any other schools besides SWIU interested in her?”

“No. She was lucky to get noticed by that one.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “There aren’t too many volleyball scholarships for women. The men’s athletic programs get all the money.”

“How did SWIU discover her?” Skye doubted Scumble River High School’s athletes were on too many college scouts’ must-see list.

“Her coach went to school there and knew someone.” He was starting to look at Skye as if wondering why she was asking so many questions. “We were lucky that Ms. Hucksford came to Scumble River, or Roxy might never have had the opportunity.”

“How long has she been coaching?” Skye knew Blair had been at the high school for a few years, but she wasn’t sure when the teacher had taken over the volleyball team. “I haven’t had much interaction with Ms. Hucksford.”

“This is her second year.” He noticed that the line had moved and edged forward. “Ms. H has done an amazing job with those girls.”

“Oh. Wasn’t the team very good before?” Skye wished she knew more about the sport. “How did Ms. Hucksford improve their performance?”

“Well . . .” The guy shoved his hands in his back
pockets, his expression guarded. “There were a couple of very talented players—Roxy and Keely Peterson, to name names—but the problem was that none of them had team spirit until Ms. Hucksford took over.”

“That’s impressive,” Skye said, glad that Blair’s death hadn’t yet been made public. No way would this guy talk as freely about the volleyball coach if he knew she’d been murdered. “And I imagine not easy to achieve.”

“Exactly.” His eyes shifted away from Skye for a moment, but when he looked back, he said, “Some of the parents couldn’t accept the time and commitment that accomplishing that goal took.”

“Interesting,” Skye said, starting to get a glimmer of an idea.

“Looks like it’s my turn.” He stepped up to the counter and said, “Nice talking to you. You should come to a game next year.”

“I’ll sure try to.” Skye smiled. “Lovely chatting with you, too.”

After Roxy’s father completed his transaction, took his plastic-wrapped clothes, and left, Skye stepped up and handed the clerk her receipt. While she waited for the woman to locate Wally’s uniforms on the revolving rack, Skye thought about how nice it was to hear something positive about Blair. Maybe the other teachers hadn’t liked her, but at least one volleyball parent had been a big fan of the dead woman. Someone in Scumble River would mourn her.

*   *   *

Skye stood in the master bathroom, luxuriating under the soothing spray of the newly installed eight-inch rainfall showerhead. It was her second shower today, but the first one had been more of a hurried rinse so she could get back to school than a true scrub. She had plenty of time. Wally had phoned to tell her he wouldn’t be home until six thirty.

When her fingers started to prune, she stepped out of the stall, toweled off, and reached for the moisturizer.
Still feeling itchy from her recent coatings of caked-on chlorine, she applied and reapplied the lotion until her skin was shiny and slick.

As Skye dried her curls, a little voice carped at her. Should she bow out of this investigation? Although her doctor had assured her that going back into the pool to bring Blair to the surface hadn’t put the baby at any risk, Skye still felt guilty. The nagging voice in her head sounded a lot like her mother’s, but maybe she should listen anyway.

While mentally debating her participation in the case, she finished styling her hair, then applied bronzer and mascara. Wally would understand if she chose not to work this case. Heck, he might even encourage her to sit out this one. But did she really want to turn into that kind of woman?

She wiggled into a pair of black jeans—thankful for the touch of spandex when she could barely zip them. Flipping through the hangers in her closet, she chose a ballet pink knit top that displayed her amplified cleavage to its full advantage. She usually greeted Wally wearing sweats and sporting a ponytail, but he’d had a rough day and deserved a little treat.

Hearing the sound of the front door closing, she hurriedly slipped on her pink Coach flats. Then she stole an additional second to put on lipstick and take one last glance in the mirror before going to greet her new husband. After passing her own inspection, she flew down the steps, into the foyer, and rushed up to Wally.