Murder of a Creped Suzette

Congratulating herself on having concealed the little dog’s presence for an entire day, she didn’t notice Homer Knapik until his hairy hand descended on her shoulder. The principal’s lumbering movements, protruding belly, and the graying hair that grew on nearly every visible part of his body made him look like Hollywood’s concept of the abominable snowman.

Instead of greeting her, Homer grumbled, “Why didn’t you answer your phone? I’ve been calling you for the past hour.”

“I put it on voice mail when I’m with students,” Skye reminded him, perhaps for the fiftieth time. “Did you leave a message?”

“Message, smessage,” Homer groused. “Come on or we’ll never get this meeting over with.”

“What meeting?” If she had to explain with one word why the human race would never achieve its full potential, meeting would be that word.

“The one you’re making us late for.” Homer thrust his head at her.

Skye stepped out of bad-breath range. “What’s it about?”

“Mrs. Gooding wants to talk about that little brainiac of hers.”

“Now?” Skye’s heart sank. She couldn’t stay late today. She had to rescue Toby and get to the police station. “If it’s not an emergency, she should make an appointment like everyone else.”

“Everyone else isn’t on the school board.” Homer grabbed Skye’s elbow and shoved her forward. “After five years in public education, you don’t still believe that everyone gets treated equally, do you?”

Skye ignored his cynicism. “Where are we going?” she asked, cringing because she already knew the answer. There was only one place in this direction where they sometimes held conferences.

“The library.”

Of course. Where else? Skye tried to hang back, but Homer kept pulling.

When they arrived, Skye was relieved to see that Trixie had seated Mrs. Gooding as far as possible from the storage room where Toby was currently ensconced. As Skye and Homer were sitting down, the final bell rang, and a few minutes later Ian’s teachers began to assemble.

Once everyone was present, Homer said, “Mrs. Gooding, what is it you’d like to discuss?”

“First—” A series of sneezes interrupted her. Once she found a tissue, blew her nose, and accepted a round of God bless yous, she continued. “I’d like to thank you all for your hard work with Ian. He hasn’t complained about being bored once yet.” She paused, sneezing twice more, then said, “But he has expressed an interest in dropping physical education and taking a real class in its place.”

“Well.” Homer stroked a tuft of hair that poked between the buttons of his shirt. “The problem with that is he needs PE credits to graduate.”

“But—” Mrs. Gooding broke off, overcome by a bout of sneezing. Once she had wiped her nose, she said, “Sorry. I can’t think what’s making me sneeze. The only thing I’m allergic to is dogs.”

Skye stole a quick glance at the storage room. A white paw was sticking out from under the door. “It’s probably mold,” she suggested. “This is an old building after all.” She had to get this meeting over with ASAP. “Maybe we should move somewhere else.”

Homer glared at Skye. “I’m sure we’re almost done. Right, Mrs. Gooding?”

“Yes.” Mrs. Gooding dabbed at her watering eyes with a Kleenex. “I just wanted to speak to the math teacher about the note you sent me yesterday.”

“The one about Ian’s assignments?” the math teacher asked.

“Uh-huh.” Mrs. Gooding nodded. “I checked with him, and he said that his homework is not missing; it’s just having an out-of-notebook experience.”

Skye looked to see if Mrs. Gooding was joking, but her expression was completely serious.

“Fine.” The math teacher didn’t blink. “Please tell Ian that his homework better rematerialize by tomorrow or he’s getting a zero.”

“Anything else?” Homer interjected before Mrs. Gooding could respond.

“Yes.” Mrs. Gooding turned to Skye. “How is Ian’s counseling going?”

“Slow but sure.” Skye’s tone was encouraging. “He’s starting to talk more.”

“About?”

“I can’t discuss specifics.” Skye shifted in her chair. “Remember, I told you about confidentiality when you signed the permission slip?”

“Good.” Homer shoved back his chair. “Then if there’s nothing else . . . ?”

“One more thing.”

While Mrs. Gooding paused for another sneeze, Skye watched in horror as one of Trixie’s student helpers walked up to the storage room, inserted her key, and opened the door. Toby erupted from the confined space like Silly String from a can.

Skye took off after him, but he eluded her every attempt to corral him. She and the dog did a few laps around the library. Books flew off the shelves as Skye tried to right herself while she skidded around corners. Toby took the same hairpin turns with ease. He looked back every once in a while to see if Skye was keeping up with him, but the moment she got near enough to grab him, he danced away, yipping excitedly.