Murder of a Creped Suzette

“You’d have to keep him with you,” Skye warned. “Believe me, you do not want him bored and alone in your house, or anywhere else.”

“So I heard.” Simon grinned. “Actually, that works out perfectly for me, since most wakes are held in the late afternoon or evening.”

“How about interments or when you have to consult with the bereaved?” Skye was still not sure this was a good plan. She didn’t want to owe Simon a favor.

“I’ll set up one of the empty rooms for him at the funeral home with a bed and some toys.” He stuck his hands in his pockets. “Xavier can help.”

“I’m so glad you talked Xavier into coming back to work for you after he quit last month.”

“Me, too.” Simon shuffled his feet. “So, what do you say? Will you trust me with the little guy?”

“Yes.” Skye realized she really couldn’t afford to turn down his offer. “He’s already set for today, but I’ll bring him over to your place between seven and seven fifteen tomorrow.”

“Thank you.” Simon stepped close to Skye and softly kissed her cheek. “I’m looking forward to the companionship.”

“Toby can definitely provide that.” Skye tried to lighten the mood.

“That’s good.” Simon’s expression was pensive. “Now that we’re not together, it seems I no longer like my own company as much as I used to.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Skye kept the sympathy out of her voice, not wanting to mislead him about her feelings.

“Thank you.” Simon grimaced. “It’s just that I never thought of myself as a person who’d ever be lonely.”

CHAPTER 15

“A Boy Named Sue”

Half an hour later, Skye sat on an uncomfortable molded-plastic chair in an overheated office, still wearing her ruined tights. She had intended to drop off Homer’s new shoes with the school secretary and escape without having to deal with the principal, but Homer had pounced on her as soon as she entered the building.

While the principal propelled her through the lobby, past the front counter, and into his inner sanctum, he grumbled about a new student who was moving into their district. Woodrow Buckingham was being enrolled that morning and his parents were arriving in ten minutes to brief them on their child’s needs.

After a quick scan of the six-inch-thick file Homer thrust into her arms, Skye said, “We really need to have the physical therapist, occupational therapist, speech pathologist, and nurse at this meeting.”

“Right.” Homer sneered. “Since the OT, PT, and speech path are only assigned to this building half a day a week and we get the nurse three afternoons—if we’re lucky—I suppose you want me to ask Harry Potter to borrow his magic wand. Or do you have a better suggestion about how I should get them all here at the last minute?”

Fortunately for both Homer and Skye, Mr. and Mrs. Buckingham arrived before Skye could tell the principal what he could do with Harry’s wand. For the next two hours Mrs. Buckingham talked about her son’s special needs. Skye took notes, trying to make sense of all the medical jargon, but in the end her yellow legal pad looked as if she’d been writing in Swahili.

After the meeting was over and the door finally closed behind the couple, Homer said, “That woman’s train of thought needs a caboose.”

Skye sat stunned, contemplating what she’d been told. It was difficult to comprehend all it would take to educate Woodrow in regular classes. She could only imagine what this poor kid had to cope with every day of his life.

From what Skye could piece together from Mr. and Mrs. Buckingham’s lengthy description, Woodrow was in a motorized wheelchair and had the use of only two fingers on his left hand. His speech was difficult, sometimes impossible to understand, and he had a moderate hearing loss in his right ear. He also had other significant health issues.

Woodrow would definitely be the most challenging student Skye and Homer had ever attempted to mainstream. Although he had an above-average IQ, it was extremely difficult for him to perform even the smallest physical task. The personnel and materials he would require to be integrated into regular classes were astronomical.

Homer caressed a tuft of hair growing from his ear and said, “What are we going to do with him? Where do we even start?”

“I wish I knew.” Skye felt numb. “I’ll study his file and start making a list of the equipment and services we’ll need.”

“We have to have a plan before he can start classes.” Homer grimaced. “Didn’t the mom say they expect him to start next week?”

“Yes, both parents were adamant about that. At least Monday is Teacher Institute, so no students.” Skye made a note on her legal pad. “But come Tuesday, he’ll need a specially outfitted bus.”

“Shit.” Homer closed his eyes and started to move his lips in and out.

“Listen.” Skye could tell that the principal was going to his happy place, and if she didn’t pull him back right now, he would stay there until she had solved his problem. “You need to contact the special education cooperative and get the coordinator assigned to us out here for a consultation.”