Skye assessed his mood by his clothing. He appeared to be dressed for a Saturday night date, in tight blue jeans, a belt with a huge silver buckle, and a shiny western-style shirt. As she stepped near the table, the stench of his cologne mixed with the alcohol on his breath was overwhelming.
She extended her hand. “Hello, I’m Ms. Denison, the school psychologist. Sorry I was late, but I didn’t know where this meeting was being held.”
Mr. Doozier looked at her outstretched hand and gingerly gave the three middle fingers a hurried squeeze, releasing them as if they were infectious. “Hap Doozier. My kid’s Cletus.”
Neva started to speak as Skye eased into the molded plastic chair. “Mr. Doozier has been telling me that Cletus is a liar, and we are not to believe any further stories he tells us.”
“Oh?” Skye raised an eyebrow. “I spoke with his teachers yesterday afternoon, and they all felt him to be too impulsive to make a very good liar.”
Frowning, Mr. Doozier leaned forward. “It ain’t no one’s business in this school to go talkin’ about my boy. Not to his teachers, or to no caseworker from the government.”
Skye forced her hands to remain still and looked Mr. Doozier in the eye. “I’m sorry you feel that way. I know you care for your son and want the best for him. That’s what we want too.”
He pounded his fist on the table. “I give the boy everything he needs. He ain’t got no mama or brothers or sisters. It’s just him and me. No one has got a right to tell me how to raise my own kid.”
Speaking in a neutral voice, Skye said in a low tone, “I’m sure you do what you think is best, but maybe we could help you find ways that might work better.”
Mr. Doozier’s face turned red and veins popped out alongside of his neck. “No one tells me how to punish my own flesh and blood. If I think he needs to be whupped, I’ll whup him, and no DCFS bitch is goin’ make me stop.”
Skye glanced nervously at Neva, who sat with her mouth partly open and her expression trancelike. “Mr. Doozier,” Skye said, “I hear you saying that you don’t like people to interfere in your business, right?”
He nodded grudgingly.
“Well, if you continue to hit Cletus, we have no choice but to keep calling the Department of Children and Family Services. They then have no choice but to send a caseworker. If this continues, DCFS will ultimately have no choice but to take Cletus away from you. Is that what you want?”
For a brief moment, Skye was sure she had succeeded in talking some sense into Mr. Doozier, but within seconds he lunged out of his seat, making the chair fly backward. Leaning on the table with both fists, his face a dark shade of crimson, he sputtered, “Ain’t no one doin’ no such thing. Y’all think you’re so smart in your fancy clothes, with your fancy degrees, but Cletus and I can disappear with the snap of my fingers. Then what you and DCFS goin’ do?”
When neither woman answered he seemed to become more enraged. He grabbed one of the chairs and flung it at the window. The glass shattered into a spider web of cracks. “But I ain’t goin’ nowhere, because all you old maid busybodies are goin’ quit stickin’ your noses in my business, or you’re goin’ get hurt worse’n that window.”
Neva and Skye sat in stunned silence for long minutes after Hap Doozier stomped out of the room.
Finally Skye shook her head. “Forget about registering guns, register six-packs. Each can of beer takes you closer to shooting yourself in the foot.”
Neva stood up and smoothed her skirt. “That guy fell out of the stupid tree and hit every branch on the way down.”
They walked down the hall, glancing around nervously as they proceeded through the empty corridor. Both breathed a sigh of relief when they reached Neva’s office.
Neva settled behind her desk and gestured for Skye to take a seat. “Now what?”
“I’m not sure. I think he threatened Cletus so that means another call to DCFS.” Skye dug out a tissue from her briefcase and dabbed at her face. She wasn’t sure if she was sweating because of the heat or the adrenaline. “The tires on my car were slashed last night. I wonder if Mr. Doozier had anything to do with it.”
“Well, there is no question he threatened us. I’m calling the police.” Neva reached for the phone.
Grandma’s Buick was waiting for Skye in the parking lot when she finished talking to Officer Quirk about Hap Doozier. The broken classroom window was a misdemeanor, Quirk had explained, but there was little the police could do about Hap’s threats.
This was not reassuring to Skye as she got into the unlocked car. The keys fell from behind the visor as she pulled it down. Jed’s hiding places were very predictable.
Skye didn’t bother with the radio or air-conditioning, since the drive home would take less than five minutes. When she arrived, Simon was pacing in front of her door. From the look on his face, Skye guessed he had not received any of her messages.
She reluctantly got out of the car. They’d been fighting a lot lately. Her head was pounding and she was soaked in sweat. “Gee, looks like you didn’t get my messages. Sorry. I hope you didn’t have to wait too long.”
Simon, a thunderous expression on his face, stood between her and the house. “That’s it? Everything is supposed to be all right just because you say you’re sorry? Where have you been all afternoon?”
“To hell. Care to join me next time?” Skye brushed past him, unlocked the door, and slipped through, letting it swing shut in his face.
He caught it before it closed and followed her inside.
She stopped on the threshold of her bedroom, turned, and crossed her arms. “Do you mind? I’m going to take a shower.”
Frowning, Simon took a step back and Skye shut the door.
She stood under the showerhead, letting the hot water knead her tense muscles. When her fingers started to wrinkle, she reluctantly turned off the spray and toweled dry. She sat at the bathroom’s built-in dressing table and worked a wide-toothed comb through her tangled curls. I shouldn’t have been so short with Simon. She smoothed lotion over her face and throat. He was just concerned. It was my fault for not getting in touch with him earlier.
After putting on a pair of denim shorts and a plain white T-shirt, Skye hesitantly opened the bedroom door. Simon was gone. She felt a heaviness in her chest. Why had she treated him so badly? Why weren’t they getting along anymore?
Angry at herself, and upset from the last twenty-four hours, Skye put a Pam Tillis CD on the player and lay on the sofa. She fell asleep to the beginning strains of “Mi Vida Loca.”
The doorbell’s persistent ringing woke Skye. She wasn’t sure of the time but it was dark outside.
A shiver ran up her spine. What if it was Hap Doozier or Gus Yoder’s father?
She grabbed her baseball bat and went to the door. Looking through the peephole, all she could see was flowers.
“Who is it?” She raised her voice to be heard through the wood.
“It’s me. Simon.”
Skye unlocked the door and held it open. Simon handed her a vase filled with roses. Their scent was intoxicating and she buried her face in the velvety petals.
While she was appreciating the flowers, Simon had returned to his car. Now he was back, carrying brown bags and a bottle of wine.
He set the packages on the kitchen table, took the vase from Skye’s arms, and placed it on the counter. “I’m sorry I was so abrupt today.” He held her hands and looked into her eyes. “Your relatives have been giving me a hard time about your grandmother’s autopsy. And then after your tires were slashed, when you weren’t here I was worried.”