Murder of a Bookstore Babe

Xenia snorted but was silent for the next few minutes until they arrived at the Dairy Kastle. The local soft-serve drive-in was a hangout for kids, and the statue of a giant man holding a cone was often photographed by tourists on their Route 66 road trips. To Skye, he looked suspiciously like Paul Bunyan, and she often wondered what had happened to his ax and his blue ox, Babe.

Once they were parked, had given their order to the carhop, and the girl had skated away, Xenia patted the dash and said, “This is wicked nice.”

“Yes. It is.” Skye swept her hand in front of her. “It’s much roomier than I was expecting.”

“And I got a great price,” Xenia bragged. “A thousand under the Kelley Blue Book Web site recommendation.”

“That’s amazing.” Skye’s tone was upbeat, but she was alarmed. It wasn’t like Hugo to sell a car for one cent less than it was worth to him. She sure hoped there was nothing wrong with the VW. Not that she had believed for a minute that he really had another buyer for it.

“Like you and Mrs. Frayne used to always say”—Xenia beamed—“it pays to do your homework.”

“You did great. I’m proud of you.” Skye couldn’t remember ever seeing a genuine smile on Xenia’s face before. “You know, I’ve never actually bought a car.”

“Word?”

“Yep. My dad has always fixed up clunkers for me.” Skye shrugged. “He and my uncle found my current one rotting in someone’s barn.”

“It must have taken them a long time to make a nineteen fifty-seven Bel Air so nice.” Xenia’s smile faded. “My mom won’t even stitch on a button for me. She just hands me some money and tells me to buy a new blouse.”

“Maybe she doesn’t know how to sew.”

“That’s her excuse for everything she doesn’t want to do: clean, cook, help me fill out forms for school.” Xenia’s lips thinned. “I think you shouldn’t be allowed to have a kid until you can prove you can take care of one.”

Skye silently agreed with the girl and struggled to come up with a diplomatic answer. When she couldn’t, she changed the subject. “Not that I’m not happy to do it, but what made you decide to invite me to come with you to buy a car? I sure didn’t contribute much to the process.”

“Uh.” Xenia peeled a strip of black polish off her thumbnail. “My therapist says I have to start asking for help.” She glanced at Skye out of the corner of her eye. “You know, quit trying to do everything myself.”

“Right.” Skye nodded. Xenia had been seeing a private counselor for the past couple of years. She had a lot of issues—explosiveness, impulsivity, and episodes of depression among the most serious. The psychologist seemed to be making remarkable progress with Xenia, but she still had a long way to go. “I’m glad you picked me,” Skye said.

“You and Mrs. Frayne were pretty cool with stuff that happened on the paper.” Xenia made a face. “Not that you let us get away with anything, but you didn’t automatically freak out or blame the bad kids either.”

“Well, thanks.” Skye felt a glow. One of the drawbacks of being a school psychologist was lack of feedback. It was nice to hear she’d established rapport with a student, especially one she would have bet money hadn’t felt a connection. “So—”

Skye’s next words were cut off when a tiny brunette stuck her head through Xenia’s open window and said, “Girlfriend. New wheels?”

“Got it about an hour ago.” Xenia grinned. “Now I can take my turn driving to school.”

“Awesome.” The brunette vibrated with energy.

Since it didn’t look as if Xenia planned to introduce her, Skye stuck out her hand and said, “Hi, I’m Skye Denison.”

“Actually, we’ve met.” The girl shook Skye’s hand. “I’m Kayla Hines. I graduated from Scumble River High in 2004.”

“Sorry,” Skye apologized. “Which activity did we meet through?” She was pretty sure their encounter hadn’t been in her capacity as a school psychologist. She tended to remember those kids, at least their names if not all their faces.

“You gave a talk on intelligence to my advanced English class.”

“Oh.” Skye was glad to know Kayla had been part of a group and she hadn’t forgotten a student with whom she’d worked individually. “I hope I didn’t bore you to tears.”

“No. It was the first time anyone explained that there are different kinds of intelligence.” Kayla’s smile was radiant. “It totally made me appreciate the artistic side of myself and helped me decide to become a filmmaker. Everyone was telling me I was so smart, I should be a doctor, but I knew when we had to dissect a cat in advanced biology that it wasn’t the career for me.”

“I’m glad I helped.” Skye settled back in her seat. This was turning out to be a good day after all. “So you and Xenia are attending the same college in Chicago?”

“It’s not a college,” Kayla corrected. “We’re both going to the Chicago School of Film and Photography.”

Xenia added, “Kayla’s a second-year student and is studying moviemaking. She’s over-the-top talented.”