Murder of a Sleeping Beauty by Denise Swanson Read Free Book Online Page B

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.
    “How the heck did he get out?” Skye scanned the inside of Homer’s office, and walked over to the closed drapes. Come to think of it, she had never seen them open. She stuck her hand underneath the fabric and fished for the cord. Nabbing it, she yanked. The curtains swished back to reveal not the window Skye was expecting, but a door designed to look like a window from the outside of the building.
    Opal murmured, “I guess they went to lunch.”
    “At ten-thirty?”
    The other woman shrugged.
    Skye turned to Wally. “You’ll have to wait for them to get back. Opal and I don’t have the authority to let you have the list or interview students.”
    Wally’s face was rigid. “We don’t need your permission.”
    Skye didn’t know what the law said, but she knew what parent reaction would be if they allowed Wally free rein. “Sorry, but if you insist, we’ll advise students not to talk to you until we can reach their parents.”
    “You’re out of line.” Wally sighed. “I understand you want to protect your kids, but the longer we wait, the colder the trail gets.”
    What he had just said finally sank through to Skye. “Are you saying she was murdered?”
     
    Skye screamed. It felt good, so she did it again. One more time, she decided, and then she could face returning to the chaos inside the high school. She had borrowed Trixie’s car keys and locked herself in the Mustang in order to blow off some steam and refrain from hitting someone.
    The question wasn’t whom to smack, but whom to smack first? The coach/guidance counselor, who hated sharing a room with Skye and kept trying to sneak into the guidance office and force Skye out? The insufferable coordinator from the co-op, who had finally dropped by but still refused to interact with any of the students, and instead had locked himself in with Homer, then had had the nerve to go out to lunch? Or Wally, who continued to try to freeze Skye with his indifference every time they were in the same room together?
    Reluctantly, Skye emerged from the small car. The dark interior had been soothing, almost like being inside a mug of hot cocoa. Too bad a cup of Swiss Miss wasn’t inside of her; she could use a shot of chocolate comfort right now. As she entered the school, she could hear sounds of male bonding—guffaws, chuckles, and snickers—coming from behind the principal’s closed door. She looked at her watch—nearly noon. Obviously the co-op coordinator and Homer had returned from their early luncheon.
    All the buttons on the telephone were lit, and as fast as Opal answered one, another line would light up. Her part of the conversations consisted of, “Sorry, we can’t give out that information.” Then she paused as the person on the other end yelled at her. She finished with, “I’m really sorry, but I’m not allowed to say.”
    The secretary’s sparse mouse-colored hair stood on end, and her watery brown eyes were red-rimmed from the tears she kept dabbing away with a shredded tissue. Obviously the woman was overwhelmed by the volume and vituperativeness of the calls.
    Skye stared at Homer’s closed door. Opal was nearing a breakdown, and the principal needed to do something about it. A sudden wave of male laughter helped Skye make up her mind. With some principals she used reason to achieve what she wanted. With others she used diplomacy. Homer reacted only to frontal attacks.
    She knocked sharply on the door and entered without waiting for permission. “Homer, the phones are ringing off the wall. Opal needs someone to help her with all the calls.”
    The jovial expression on the principal’s face changed to one of annoyance. “What do you want me to do about it? You’ve confiscated all my personnel.”
    Skye counted to ten and reminded