Murder of a Royal Pain (12 page)

Skye was too surprised to do more than nod. She would have bet good money that Simon didn’t place much value on what she did for the police department, that he disapproved of her involvement in investigations. She narrowed her eyes. Which of her other assumptions about Simon were wrong?

“I’m guessing Roy’s lack of an invitation is not going to deter you from looking into this case,” Simon said.

The denial died on her lips when she saw the devilish look in his eyes. “I can help. I’m familiar with the people and the haunted-house setup.”

“So, what do you want to know?” Simon took her arm and steered her to a more secluded area.

“You said the victim hasn’t been identified yet, but were you able to determine a time of death?”

“According to the liver temp, between when you found her and thirty minutes prior.”

Skye rummaged in her backpack for a notepad and pen, handing superfluous items to Simon as she searched. He raised an eyebrow when she produced the string of garlic, and bit his lip to stifle a grin when she pulled out the crucifix. At last she found what she was looking for and allowed Simon to give back what he’d been holding.

Amusement and tenderness flickered in his expression when he said, “Being here really scares you, doesn’t it?”

“A little.” She was glad the green makeup hid the flush she felt creeping up her neck.

“I remember your telling me how much you hated haunted houses after what happened to you when you were little. Why did you volunteer?”

Skye couldn’t meet his eyes. “I was trying to get over my phobia.” How could she admit she’d been prompted by her insecurity regarding the new social worker? Especially since Simon was apparently dating Jackie.

Simon didn’t look convinced, but he let it drop. “What else do you want to know?”

“What are they doing to identify the victim?” Skye asked. She had told Quirk who the other two witches were supposed to be, but she hadn’t been able to tell whether he thought that information was important or not.

“I overheard them saying they found Hope Kennedy and she was fine, but no one has seen Mrs. Miles.”

Skye was thrilled that the teacher was okay, but felt her heart sink at the news that Nina was missing. There couldn’t be a good outcome, but she’d held on to the hope that a terminally ill stranger had wandered into the haunted house, donned the witch costume and makeup, and died of natural causes.

Simon went on, “I called Xavier, and he’s bringing over makeup remover and rubbing alcohol to loosen the spirit gum holding on the prosthetics.” Xavier Ryan was Simon’s assistant at the funeral home. “Once we reveal her face, we’ll ask Mr. Miles to take a look. Roy told Anthony to call and have him come over.”

“Poor man.” Skye shook her head and tried not to think about how awful it would be for him. “What reason did Anthony give Mr. Miles for asking him to come?”

“Roy told Anthony to say there was a problem at the haunted house and he should come right away, then hang up.” Simon rubbed his chin. “Not to give him a chance to ask for details.”

“You know his daughter is here somewhere. She’s one of the zombie cheerleaders. Quirk needs to take her aside now, before she hears something.”

“Anthony said something to that effect, but Roy didn’t want to alert anyone, so he refused.”

Skye’s mouth tightened. “I understand his reasoning, but Bree’s an eighteen-year-old girl.” Roy Quirk was really beginning to annoy her. “It’s not right for her to find out about her mother through the grapevine.” Wally would get an earful when he called.

“I’m sure once Mr. Miles makes the identification, Roy will have an officer bring the girl to her father.”

“Maybe I should go find her and sort of stand nearby until that happens.”

“That’s probably a good idea.” Simon ran a hand through his short auburn hair. “But Roy’s not going to be happy I’ve told you all this.”

“I’ll be subtle.” She gave Simon a conspiratorial grin. “Besides, Quirk isn’t the boss of you.”

Simon chuckled softly, but broke off when Xavier approached and handed him a small paper bag. Xavier nodded to Skye, then said to Simon, “Here’s the makeup remover and rubbing alcohol you wanted. Give me a call if you need anything else. I’ll be waiting in the hearse.”

When Skye had first met Xavier, his pale blue lashless eyes magnified behind old-fashioned horn-rimmed glasses had made him seem reptilian, but she had come to like and respect Simon’s soft-spoken assistant. He was a widower, and his daughter, Frannie, was a freshman in college.

Skye thought Xavier was probably lonely with her gone—or maybe not. Frannie had been one of Skye’s favorite students, but she was extremely intelligent and curious, not always the easiest qualities for a parent to deal with.

Simon touched Skye’s hand. “I’ve got to return to the victim. Once we make the identification, I’ll be transporting the body. Will you be okay?”

“I’ll be fine.” Skye squeezed his arm. “Thanks . . . for everything.”

After Simon left, Skye scanned the area for Bree Miles. Four girls were dressed as zombie cheerleaders, and Skye wasn’t sure which one was Bree. She could eliminate Cheyenne Harrison and Linnea Paine, but the other two were unfamiliar to her. Luckily, since they were all huddled together, it didn’t matter.

Skye dragged a chair over to a spot against the wall next to the group and pulled a book out of her backpack, pretending to be engrossed in the novel. Although it was only October, the girls were talking about the prom.

Skye shook her head. Cats were the only ones that were supposed to have nine lives, but teenagers certainly carried on as if they did, too. The girls had to have heard that someone had died, yet as far as Skye could tell, the big topic of conversation, after who was going with whom to the prom, was the dress each wanted and how much it would cost.

A half hour went by, and Cheyenne was describing an elaborate copper-colored strapless dress with a mermaid hem, made by some designer named BCBG for only seven hundred dollars, when an angry-looking man in his early forties marched over and said, “Bree, get your things. It’s time to go home.”

“But, Dad, Mom said I could stay out until midnight.”

“A woman’s been killed.” Mr. Miles pulled the girl aside and said so softly that Skye had to lean forward to hear, “They thought it was your mother.”

“But isn’t Mom home sick with the flu?”

“Yes.” Mr. Miles propelled the girl toward the outside door, and Skye followed, hugging the wall. “And we need to get back there before some busybody hears the rumor and calls to offer their condolences on her death.”

“Yeah. She’d freak.”

As Mr. Miles and Bree waited at the exit for the officer on duty to check with Quirk before he let them out, Bree asked, “So, who
was
the dead woman?”

Mr. Miles looked around, and Skye quickly averted her gaze so he wouldn’t guess she was listening. But as soon as he turned back to his daughter, Skye moved closer.

“You can’t tell anyone,” he said in a low voice, “but it’s Linnea’s mother. Mrs. Paine.”

Skye swallowed a gasp. Annette Paine! She was the last person Skye would have guessed. Tears slid down her cheek. Annette may have been overbearing, but she was also a mother and a wife. Her death would create a void in many lives.

Skye felt a stab of guilt. She hadn’t liked Annette, had made fun of her obsession with Promfest, but no one deserved to be murdered. Wiping away the wetness under her eyes, Skye squared her shoulders. She would make sure Annette’s killer was found and brought to justice.

The first question Skye needed to answer was this: Why in the world had Annette been dressed as a witch when she was supposed to be the Bride of Frankenstein? Both the witches and Mrs. Frankenstein wore green makeup, so all Annette would have had to do was stick on the prosthetic nose and chin. Still, how had she had time to change costumes, arrive at Skye’s assigned spot, and get herself killed?

A
few minutes after Mr. Miles and Bree left the building, an officer came into the hallway and spoke to Frankenstein, aka Dylan Paine, Annette’s husband. Funny, Skye didn’t remember seeing him among the crowd as they had waited for the county crime techs to arrive, or even after everyone had been interviewed. How could she have missed a six-foot-four green monster?

As Skye watched, Dr. Paine nodded a few times at what the policeman was saying, then pointed to the trio of zombie cheerleaders. Both men went over to the group, and Dr. Paine whispered into Linnea’s ear. She looked puzzled, but followed her father and the policeman through the door leading to the inner passageway.

Fifteen minutes later, Simon emerged wheeling a gurney that held a black body bag. Skye made her way to his side and walked with him toward the exit, speaking softly. “Was the witch Annette Paine?”

He gave a brief nod.

“Did they discover anything else?”

“Not that I heard.” The low volume of his voice made it clear that what he said was for her ears only. “The crime techs are still working.”

“Any sign of Evie Harrison?”

“I didn’t see her.” Before Simon pushed the gurney through the door, he paused and asked, “Are you okay to get home by yourself?”

“I’m fine.”

“Then I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

Skye watched as Simon and Xavier loaded the body bag into the back of the hearse. She was astonished at how easily she and Simon had fallen back into their former roles. They had broken up over a year ago, and she’d been dating Wally for nearly that long, yet it had felt right to be working as a team with Simon.

She reassured herself that this marked the beginning of a new friendship with her ex, nothing more. Certainly it had nothing to do with her relationship with Wally. She relaxed. It felt good to be at ease with Simon again.

Another half hour went by before everyone was dismissed. Skye was among the last to leave. She had loitered in the bathroom as the women had taken turns getting out of their costumes and wiping off their makeup, hoping to overhear something, but nothing had been said that she didn’t already know.

Speculation about the night’s events ran wild. No one seemed to have heard that the dead woman was Annette Paine, and no one mentioned Evie Harrison’s absence. With some of the haunted-house workers held in the lobby and others kept in the hallway, and with many people leaving as soon as they were allowed to, Skye wasn’t surprised that everyone was still in the dark.

Because she’d been late, Skye had been forced to park at the very back of the lot, and the asphalt appeared endless as she trudged to the farthest corner. Clouds covered the moon, and the chilled, damp air made her shiver. She pulled her sweater coat more tightly around her, wishing she had worn a heavier jacket. She felt achy and exhausted, but her thoughts kept turning to the dead woman. Who would want to kill Annette Paine? Yes, she could be a royal pain at times, but enough to cause someone to commit murder?

Abruptly something clicked in her mind, and a terrifying realization washed over her. What if Annette wasn’t the intended victim? The killer could have been after anyone who was supposed to have been dressed as a witch. The murderer could have been after Nina or Hope or . . . Skye gulped, facing the undeniable and horrible fact that
she
might have been the killer’s target.

The idea that someone might want to see her dead made Skye stumble, but a hand reached out and steadied her before she fell. Screaming, she pulled loose from the grip and took off running.

She was digging frantically through her backpack for the car keys when a voice yelled after her, “Skye, wait. Stop. It’s me. Kurt. Kurt Michaels.”

She turned her head, but kept running until she recognized the man chasing her. She paused with her hands on her knees, gasping for breath. She really, really had to get back to swimming in the mornings.

Kurt caught up with her. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you like that.”

“What are you doing skulking around a dark parking lot at ten o’clock at night?”

“Waiting for you.” He offered her an easy smile. “By the way, what happened in there? I heard the call on my scanner, but they didn’t say what was wrong, only that you had requested the police and an ambulance. Then the coroner showed up with the hearse.”

“I can’t talk about it.” Skye was glad they hadn’t put the murder out over the radio.

“Sure you can.” Kurt put a hand on her arm and tried to steer her to a black Land Rover parked next to her Bel Air. “Why don’t we go get a drink at the Brown Bag and you can tell me all about it.”

She shook his hand off again. “What part of ‘no’ don’t you understand?”

“The whole word.” The corners of his eyes crinkled attractively when he grinned. “It’s not a part of a reporter’s vocabulary.”

“Have it your way.” Skye found her keys and, after dropping them twice, unlocked her car. “But I’m going home. There’s a hot bath there and a glass of Diet Coke with my name on it.”

“Your hands are shaking. I don’t think you’re in any condition to drive.” He inserted himself between her and the open car door, blocking her access. “If you don’t want a drink, we could get coffee.”

“Get out of my way or I’ll Taser you.” Skye reached into her backpack and pulled out her stun gun. “I’m really not in the mood for this.”

“Okay. Okay.” Kurt held up his hands and backed away. “But I am driving you home.”

She started to shake her head, but she noticed that his blue eyes had changed to a steely gray, and he no longer looked like the flirtatious, carefree reporter she had come to know. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but he seemed different . . . older. He stood straighter, his shoulders squared, and his features had lost any hint of boyishness.

He took her silence as refusal and said, “You’re pale, you’re trembling so hard I’m afraid you’ll accidently pull the trigger on that stun gun of yours, and you can barely stand up.”