“Staying out of police investigations would be a good start.” Homer’s face turned a mottled red. “Quit poking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”
“You are aware that I was hired to consult for the police department?” Skye knew he was, because although her school contract allowed her to moonlight, it stipulated that she inform the principals and the school board, which she’d done.
“Everyone knows the only reason you got that gig was because the chief was hot for you.” Homer plunked into his chair, which groaned in protest. “Now that you’re engaged to him, give the man a break and stop interfering.”
“I do not interfere.” Skye refused to let someone who resembled a Yeti disparage the assistance she provided the police. “I help.”
Homer snorted. “Quit finding dead bodies. Quit finding murderers. Quit bugging the crap out of me.” Homer pointed a hairy finger at her. “Do what we pay you for.”
“What are you talking about?” Skye always got her work finished, even when it meant staying late and taking reports home to finish. “What haven’t I done?”
“Straightened out Pru Cormorant.” Homer pretended to search for something in a drawer, not looking at Skye when he muttered, “She’s gone a little off.”
“So, what’s new?” Skye retorted. “She’s been past her sell-by date for years.”
The English teacher had been at Scumble River High for as long as Homer had and was a law unto herself. Every once in a while she did something so atrocious that Homer was forced to take some action, like the time she wrote on a report card, Since our last conference, your child has reached rock bottom and started to dig.
Unfortunately, Homer usually delegated the task of doing something about Pru to Skye. This was the beginning of Skye’s sixth year at Scumble River High and at least the third time Homer had ordered her to “fix” Pru.
“She’s got her panties in a bunch over that new bookshop.” Homer pushed a clipboard across his desktop to Skye. “She wants the whole school to sign this petition and boycott the store.” He turned his back. “You’ve got to get her under control.”
Skye cringed. “That isn’t my job. It’s yours.”
Homer ignored Skye and continued, “Worse yet, she’s already sent petitions home to some parents. I’ve been getting calls all weekend asking if what Corny is saying is true and wanting to know what the school is doing about this matter.”
“I discussed this with her last Friday.” Skye pushed the clipboard back toward Homer. “There’s absolutely no merit to her accusation that the bookstore is selling porn or books advocating devil worship.”
“And this was all before that girl was killed in the break-in.” Homer’s two oversize front teeth gnawed on his bottom lip. “I hear now Corny is claiming the wild animals they keep as pets are really the reason for the murder. Which doesn’t even make sense.”
“Holy moly.” And Skye had thought nothing Pru did could surprise her. “That’s ridiculous. The ‘wild animals’ are chinchillas, and they didn’t get loose. She, or one of her minions, let them loose.”
Oops! She had forgotten to tell Wally about that episode, as well as what Charlie had said about Risé. She’d have to call him as soon as she was out of her meeting.
“I don’t give a damn.” Homer swept his desktop with his arm, sending the offending clipboard along with various other items, flying to the floor. “Just make Corny stop, so the parents quit calling me about this shit.”
“Why don’t you order her to stop?” Skye made a scornful noise and answered her own question. “Oh, yeah, she’s tenured, so you can’t, because you don’t have much to hold over her head, right?”
“So what?” he snapped. “It’s your job to convince her to quit being a pain in my crack. You’re the shrink. Counsel her about her evil ways.”
“Right.” He’d tried using that tack before. “The fact that you blatantly don’t believe in all that ‘psychobabble,’ as you put it, makes it pretty obvious your real motive is to pass the buck.”
“Have it your way.” Homer folded his hands across his paunch and leaned back. “Do it because I’m ordering you to, and because, unlike that lunatic English teacher, you do not have tenure.”
Skye opened her mouth to protest but closed it without speaking. He was right. Since she was considered a part of neither the teaching faculty nor the administration, she had none of the protections most of the staff enjoyed. She’d tried to join the union, as many of her fellow school psychologists in other school systems had, but so far the matter was still being considered.
“Any suggestion on how I can prevent Pru from acting within her constitutional rights?” Skye asked. Not that she didn’t want the teacher to cease and desist harassing the bookstore, but she had no idea how to make her stop.
“Nope.” Homer scratched behind a hairy ear.
Skye wondered whether she should get him a flea collar for Christmas this year.
“Just don’t mention I told you to do it.” Homer pointed his finger at her.
The ringing of the phone saved Skye from responding.
Homer snatched up the handset. “Yes?” He paused, then said, “No. No. Tell him I’m not here. . . . Hello, Shamus. What can I do for you?”
Skye flinched, hoping this call wasn’t about her. Dr. Shamus Wraige was the superintendent of the Scumble River School District, and not one of Skye’s biggest fans.
She unashamedly eavesdropped and heard Homer say, “No, I didn’t sanction that petition.” He listened, then whined, “Pru Cormorant sent it to her students’ parents without telling me.” He listened again before bleating, “I do have control of my staff. In fact, I just asked our psychologist to talk to Mrs. Cormorant about her concerns and suggest she not involve the school in her personal issues.” After a long pause, he said, “Ms. Denison assures me there is no merit to Mrs. Cormorant’s fears. Yes, sir. She’ll take care of it today.” He banged down the receiver and told Skye, “Dr. Wraige does not want to get one more call about this matter.” Homer dug a roll of antacids out of his desk drawer.
“And you told him I could stop Pru?”
“Yes, so hop to it.” Homer threw a handful of Tums into his mouth.
The white fizz around his lips made him look like a wolf with rabies. Normally Skye might have found that amusing. Not now. Not considering that he had just offered her up to the superintendent as a sacrificial lamb.
“You know”—Homer suddenly froze, and beads of sweat popped out on his forehead—“if Corny finds out I told you to stop her, she’ll hound me to hell and back.”
“I promise not to mention your name.”
“You’d better not,” Homer warned, then threw two more antacids into his mouth. “Because if that happens, I’m making you twice as miserable as she makes me.”
“I’ll do what I can, but truly, I have no idea how to get her to quit.”
Homer appeared to make a sudden decision. “I’ve got to make a call.” He picked up the phone. “You can go now.”
As she was gathering her things, Skye heard part of Homer’s conversation. “It’s me. I’ve decided we should go to the cabin this afternoon. Start packing now. I’ll be home in a couple of hours. I’ll call in sick for the rest of the week.”
Apparently, Homer wasn’t taking any chances that Pru Cormorant would turn her attentions to him.
He looked up from the file he had opened. “Are you still here? I thought you had an appointment at seven fifteen.” He looked pointedly at the clock on the wall behind her. “You’re late.”