Murder of a Sleeping Beauty Read Online Free PDF Page B

dreamed she was in college and had forgotten to go to class all semester. Now it was time to take the final exam. A blank blue book stared up at her from the desktop. She couldn’t breathe. She struggled up through layers of unconsciousness. She still couldn’t inhale. Her mouth felt dry and fuzzy. Her eyes flew open. Everything was black. Bingo had settled on the pillow next to her, his rump covering the lower half of her face.
    She pushed him away and flung back the covers. She was sweating, and it felt as if she had run the Chicago Marathon. To calm her racing heart she tried one of the deep breathing exercises she taught to kids who suffered from anxiety.
    Suddenly Skye bolted upright. Shit, shit, shit! She would bet her next paycheck that the high school had no crisis-intervention strategy. She had read recently that only seventy-eight percent of all schools had such a plan, and since neither a psychologist nor social worker had ever remained in Scumble River for more than a year, it was highly unlikely an emergency procedure had ever been written. And without a plan spelling out who would do what in case of a disaster or a tragedy, nothing would be in place to handle the students’ grief.
    She’d bet another week’s salary that Homer would see no need for such an intervention. But whether the principal agreed or not, many of the students would suffer severe emotional trauma once they heard about Lorelei’s death. For the majority of those kids, it would be their first taste of mortality. Most would act as if Lorelei’s death didn’t bother them, but if the situation wasn’t handled properly, they’d be vulnerable to suicide attempts, substance abuse, and other risk-taking behaviors.
    Skye pulled the covers over her head. How could she deal with such a crisis alone? She needed help from other mental-health professionals, but there were none in Scumble River.
    After a few moments, she forced herself out of bed and into the shower. By five-thirty, she was sitting at her kitchen table with a cup of Earl Grey tea, the phone book, and a legal pad.
    One bright spot. The superintendent was out of town. Dr. Wraige and Skye had a mutual-avoidance policy going, and she was happy not to have to deal with him. That left the principal as her first call. She hoped he was an early riser.
    “Hi. Homer? Skye Denison here. Time? Yes, I know the time. It’s five-thirty-five. I’m sorry I woke you, but we have a problem, one connected with Lorelei’s death.” Skye held the phone away from her ear and let him rant for a few moments. “I’m really sorry, but do we have some sort of policy on how to deal with this type of situation with the other kids?”
    Homer’s end went silent. Then he said, “No. Well, we do have something from the special ed co-op, but we never filled in the blanks with names or anything.”
    The Scumble River School District belonged to the Stanley County Special Education Cooperative, an entity that, in theory, furnished them with programs and personnel on an intermittent basis, as needed. The cooperative had started out by providing school psychologists, social workers, occupational therapists, physical therapists, speech pathologists, and teachers for such low-incidence handicaps as vision and hearing impairments. Now that most of those professions were needed full-time by school districts, the co-op had become more or less a watchdog to deal with the bureaucratic red tape of special-education funding.
    Skye covered the mouthpiece and swore. She tapped an angry tattoo on the kitchen table with her pen, then finally spoke into the phone. “Who do we have available who’s qualified to help deal with the kids who are upset?”
    “Besides you?”
    “Yes, besides me.” She was glad Homer couldn’t see her expression. Forcing her tone into a pleasant range, she asked, “Who can I have today? Who will have had some training?”
    A longer silence fell this time. “Ah, no one I can think of. Maybe we