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“Thorntree Academy went over the records you sent them, and they tell me that Ashley needs another test before they’ll consider her application.” Mrs. Northrup thrust a piece of paper with an official letterhead at Skye. “They want you to give her the Autism Diagnostic Observation Schedule.”

“I see.” Skye frowned. “Ashley was originally diagnosed by a pediatric neurologist. Does Thorntree doubt the doctor’s diagnosis?”

“I don’t think so.” Mrs. Northrup chewed her thumbnail, then shook her head. “They didn’t say anything
about her classification. Just that the test was required before their admissions committee could make a decision.”

“Okay.” Skye jotted down a note. She was more than willing to give Ashley the additional assessment; the problem was that she couldn’t.

“So when can you get this Autism Diagnostic Observation Schedule thingy done?” Mrs. Northrup was clutching the strap of her purse so tightly her knuckles were white. “I know this is the last day before spring break, but can you do it this afternoon? Or I could bring Ashley in anytime you’re available next week.”

“Actually”—Skye chose her words carefully—“we don’t have the ADOS.”

“How much would this Adios test cost us to order?” Homer demanded.

“I really have no idea.” Skye wrinkled her nose. “But my guess would be somewhere between five hundred and a thousand.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Homer snorted. “Maybe you could borrow it from the co-op.”

“That’s a possibility,” Skye agreed, then added, “But the real difficulty is that I’m not familiar with the ADOS. And without proper training, it isn’t ethical for me to administer the instrument.”

“Then the district needs to find someone to do it.” Mrs. Northrup twisted a large masculine-looking gold nugget ring on her right hand.

“Can’t you read the manual or something?” Homer snapped at Skye, lacing his fingers over his stomach. “Heck, every time the state changes its tests, I have to figure out the new instructions.”

“No.” Skye gripped the armrest of her chair. “That would not be best practices, and I won’t do it.” She closed her eyes, then suggested, “I know that speech pathologists are qualified to give the ADOS. Maybe Ms. Whitney has been trained on the instrument.”

“Ask her,” Mrs. Northrup demanded. “I’m tired of everything taking so long. I want to know right now if she can do it or not.”

While Homer dialed the phone, Skye tried to make small talk with Ashley’s mother. “I was sorry to hear about the fire at your Laundromat.”

“Thank you.” Mrs. Northrup sighed and ran her hand through her hair. “It was just another awful thing in my already sucky life. First Ashley’s problems, then Gideon dies”—she touched the ring on her right hand—“and now the fire.” She bit back a strangled laugh. “Strike three and you’re out.”

“Will you be able to reopen soon?” Skye asked, patting the woman’s arm.

“No.” Mrs. Northrup shook her head. “I’m putting the land up for sale and I’m looking for a job.”

“You know, the police department has a dispatcher position opening up soon,” Skye offered. Char had announced her retirement as of the end of April. “You could put in an application.”

“Thanks.” Mrs. Northrup’s expression softened. “I’ll look into it.”

“Belle doesn’t know how to give that Adios either,” Homer proclaimed, hanging up the receiver. Then, scowling at Skye, he said, “Next bright idea?”

“The co-op might have someone qualified,” Skye said. “If you had invited the special ed coordinator, as I suggested, he’d know.”

“No need to get him out here for a question that can be answered over the phone.” Homer glared at Skye and picked up the handset. “We’re better off without the co-op sticking their nose in our business.”

“Right.” Skye barely kept from rolling her eyes. Homer’s paranoia was showing again. “Mrs. Northrup, since there are only two months of school left, maybe instead of rushing to send Ashley to Thorntree this year, it would be best to investigate ways to accommodate her here, and then allow her to start there as a sophomore.”

“No!” Mrs. Northrup shouted. “I’ve waited long enough. She’s going to Thorntree one way or another. Unlike this school, they have a summer program, and I don’t want her to miss out on that.”

“The co-op does have the test and someone can administer it, but not until the end of next month,” Homer announced. “They’ll get back to us with an appointment date and time.” He raised a brow and said, “I’m afraid that’s the best we can do, Mrs. Northrup. And we are within the legal time line with that solution.”

“Sure.” Mrs. Northrup jumped to her feet. “Hide behind the law. You all make me jump through hoop after hoop to get help for my daughter.” She marched to the door. “But I’ll get Ashley what she needs if it’s the last thing I do.”

As the door slammed behind the enraged woman, Skye and Homer exchanged glances. Skye knew the special education process was frustrating to parents. Heck, it was frustrating to her. She’d do her best to expedite matters for Mrs. Northrup, but for the most part, her hands were tied.

CHAPTER 20

OBO—Open Book Official

T
hat afternoon, as soon as Skye got to the PD, she told Wally about the conversation she’d overheard between Juliette and Paige. Before he could respond, she added, “We really need to find out about Blair’s team-building activities.”

“When I spoke to the Inslees today, they said that their issue with Coach Hucksford was the hours she required of her players.” Wally leaned a hip against the wall opposite the coffee/interrogation room door. “They said that their daughter didn’t have time for much else, including her chores around the farm.”

“Did they mention the bonding exercises at all?” Skye asked.

“Not specifically.” Wally jiggled the keys in his pocket. “Just that Juliette felt the coach showed too much favoritism.”

“Juliette wrote a fairly insightful article about that topic for the
Scoop
,” Skye commented, then added, “From what Roxy had to say yesterday, I’m guessing Keely is the player Juliette felt got preferential treatment.” Skye tipped her head toward the interrogation room. “I can’t
wait to hear what Keely has to say about that, although I’m surprised her father isn’t here with her.”

“You can never tell how people will react to being asked to come to the police station for a chat.” Wally chuckled ruefully. “Peterson said that Keely didn’t need him to hold her hand, but the Inslees absolutely refused to bring Juliette to the PD. They told me that if we wanted to talk to her, we could make an appointment to meet with them in Laurel at their attorney’s office.”

“Then I’m glad I listened to Paige and Juliette’s conversation this morning.” Skye’s guilt at eavesdropping lessened. “From what she said, it seemed that although Juliette wasn’t happy about Blair’s partisan behavior toward the star players, she was willing to put up with it. Apparently, being on the team made her a member of the popular clique, and she’d do anything to remain a part of that group.”

“I still want to talk to Juliette.” Wally levered himself from the wall. “But after what you overheard, her name’s moved much farther down my list.”

“What happened with Thor?” Skye asked. “Is he here?”

“Yep. I had Quirk pick him up.” Wally put his hand on the interrogation-room doorknob, clearly impatient to start the interview with Keely. “He got here the same time that Keely arrived, so he’s cooling his heels in the basement holding cell. He’s been bawling for the past twenty minutes. He should be just about ready to spill his guts by the time we’re done with Keely.”

“Are you sure he’s okay?” Skye didn’t like the idea of Thor crying down there all alone. “What if he’s sick or hurt or something?”

“He’s fine. His tears are bogus.” Wally smirked. “I’ve got Martinez babysitting him, or as it is officially called, on suicide watch, and he keeps hitting on her. He even asked her to help him chaperone the prom, claiming with Blair gone, he can’t do it alone.”

“Alone?” Skye scoffed. “Heck, we have a chaperone for every ten kids.”

“Exactly.” Wally paused before opening the door. “Okay with good cop, bad cop?”

“I guess.” Skye sighed, not having to ask which role she was assigned.

“Are you all right with me acting angry at you for being on her side?”

“Sure. If you’re all right with me seeming scared of you,” Skye teased.

“No problem.” Wally winked. “Although it does boggle the imagination.”

“Very funny.” Skye snickered softly, then pasted a serious expression on her face and tilted her head toward the door. “Let’s do this.”

Wally and Skye entered the interrogation room. Wally adjusted the tape recorder, made Keely aware she was being recorded, and announced the date and time. Skye then immediately informed Keely that she was not there as her school psychologist. Once the girl had stated her name and address for the record, Skye added that she was the police psych consultant, so confidentiality no longer applied, then asked if she understood. Keely nodded, a flicker of apprehension in her hazel eyes.

Skye was surprised when a tear slid down Keely’s cheek. The brash teenager she’d met on Wednesday now looked more like a frightened little girl. Evidently, the bravado she’d exhibited during that grief-counseling session had been a facade.

Snagging a box of Kleenex from the counter, Skye took a seat next to Keely and said, “I know this whole situation is probably scary, but if you answer our questions honestly, everything will be fine. Is that okay, or do you want to call your father or a lawyer?”

“Sure. Go ahead and call for help,” Wally said as he sat down across from the women and sneered. “If you need your daddy or some other adult to protect you.”

“I can take care of myself.” Keely straightened, wiped her eyes, and turned to Skye. “Ask your questions. I don’t have anything to hide.”

Skye smiled reassuringly, then said, “That’s very good, Keely. Being forthcoming and telling the truth is the smart way to go.”

“Unless she’s the murderer,” Wally jeered. “Then all your touchy-feely, positive-reinforcement crap is bad advice, isn’t it?”

“Sorry, Chief.” Skye exchanged a frightened glance with Keely.

“Watch it, or you can leave,” Wally growled at Skye, then lasered Keely with a look that conveyed his distrust. “Did you kill Ms. Hucksford?”

“No!” Keely squealed, her mouth dropping open. “Why would I kill Coach?”

“We’re asking the questions, little girl—not you,” Wally snapped. “Where were you between eleven and twelve Monday night?”

“Home.” Keely’s shoulders drooped. “The other girls are still mad that I quit the team, so after practice I just went back to my house by myself. I told you that when you talked to me Wednesday at school.”

“You said you were alone that evening,” Wally said. “And your father’s boss confirms that he worked the afternoon shift at the nuclear plan in Brooklyn. So you don’t have an alibi for the time of Ms. Hucksford’s murder.”

Skye did a quick calculation and realized that Keely’s father couldn’t vouch for her whereabouts. Including his commute, Mac Peterson would have been away from home from three thirty Monday afternoon to twelve thirty a.m. Tuesday.

“Well.” Keely studied her hands as if they didn’t belong to her. “I . . . uh . . . I can explain where I was and what I was doing that night, but you can’t tell my dad this.” She looked at Skye beseechingly.

“If it doesn’t have anything to do with Ms. Hucksford’s murder, we won’t inform your father,” Skye assured her, then quickly added, “Unless it involves hurting yourself or someone else.”

“Dad doesn’t want me online when he’s not there.” Keely squirmed. “But my friend Bryce lives in Las Vegas. With the time difference, he can only Skype with me after Dad goes to work.”

“And you were Skyping with this Bryce Monday night?” Skye asked.

“Yeah.” Keely fingered the trio of skulls adorning her left ear.

“We’ll need his phone number.” Wally’s pen was poised over his notepad.

Keely recited the digits from memory, then demanded, “Can I go now?”

“You can leave when I say you can leave,” Wally said, continuing his bad-cop routine.

“If Bryce confirms what you’ve told us, I’m sure the chief will let you leave,” Skye said to comfort the girl. “But I do have a couple of questions before we check with your friend. Is that okay?”

“Sure.” Keely tore off small pieces of tissue, constructing a snow fort in front of her. “I mean, I guess so. What do you want to know?”

“We need to get a better idea of Ms. Hucksford’s coaching style.” Skye snuck a peek at Wally, who dipped his head in agreement at her line of questioning. “For instance, we’ve been hearing a lot about her bonding activities. Specifically, that you quit over them. What exercise made you decide to leave the team?”

“You won’t believe me.” Keely’s lips trembled. “When I told Dad and he talked to Ms. H, she convinced him that I was exaggerating.”

“That was before someone killed her.” Skye’s expression was grave.

“Fine.” Keely flipped her ponytail, the red-dipped end disappearing over her shoulder like a foxtail. “But you won’t like it.”

“Whether we like it or not”—Skye scooted closer to the girl—“we need to know what was going on.”

“At first, Ms. H just had us do some stupid feel-good
stuff like sit in a circle and write our name at the top of a piece of paper. Then we passed it to the left and each player wrote something positive on top of the paper.”

“That sounds pretty harmless.” Skye had used that type of exercise in some of her own group counseling sessions with kids who lacked self-confidence.

“Yeah, but then things got weirder.” Keely toyed with the stack of multicolor bangles on her wrist. “Coach turned off the lights and told us that she had taken apart a flashlight and hidden the pieces around the gym. Then she picked someone to be the monster and told her to go hide.

“The monster was supposed to tag everyone else, and once you were tagged you had to freeze. We had to find the flashlight and put it back together, then shine it at the monster, which would kill it. So if the monster froze everyone, she won, but if we got the flashlight together first, then the team won.”