Murder of a Royal Pain (20 page)

“So, what’s up?”

Skye hesitated. Maybe she should wait until Wally got home, but that was still five days away, and a lot could happen before then.

“Are you there?” Wally asked, irritation in his voice.

“Uh, yes, sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry. I’m just so frustrated. I wish I could split myself in half.”

“I understand.” Skye took a sip of soda; her mouth felt like the bottom of Bingo’s litter box. “Unfortunately, what I have to tell you won’t make you feel better.”

“I had a hunch that was the case. Quirk already told me about the chemical bombs at the high school.”

“It’s not about that.” Skye’s heartbeat felt irregular, and her head was pounding. “It’s about Quirk.”

“He’s still not including you?” Wally demanded, seeming almost happy to have a target for his frustration.

“No, he isn’t, but that’s not why I’m calling.” Skye tried to order her thoughts. “I talked to Hope Kennedy today. She was one of the witch trio.”

“And?”

“And it turns out Quirk has a reason to want her dead.”

“Fu—” Wally stopped, then asked, “Why?”

“Fred isn’t her first husband. When she was sixteen, she got pregnant and her parents forced her to marry the baby’s father.”

“Quirk?”

“No, his older brother,” Skye answered.

“Surely, after all this time, Quirk’s not still mad at her for divorcing his brother?”

“No. He’s mad at her for killing him.”

“What?”

“It was self-defense.” Skye took a deep breath and went on. “Quirk’s brother, Ray, was a druggie. About a month before the baby was born, he got hold of some PCP, went berserk, and started beating her. She grabbed a rifle and shot him.”

“This happened, what, twenty years ago?”

“Eighteen.”

Wally paused, obviously doing the math. “So, her son, Ross, is Quirk’s nephew?”

“Yeah, but Fred adopted him when he was a baby, which is another reason Quirk is pissed. When she changed the baby’s name to Kennedy, he told her it was as if she not only killed his brother, but also erased his very existence.”

“But why would he wait eighteen years to murder her?” Wally asked.

“Quirk’s mother is terminally ill, and she wants to see her grandson before she dies. She’s never made any attempt to be a part of his life before, and Ross said no.”

“Why would Quirk be upset with Hope for that?”

“Hope refused to try to talk Ross into it.” Skye swallowed, then added, “So Quirk told her that he’d see her dead in hell for all she’s done to his family.”

“Which would explain why Quirk doesn’t want you poking around. If he killed Annette thinking she was Hope, the last thing he wants is your convincing everyone Annette was the wrong victim.”

“Yep.” Skye was relieved that she and Wally were on the same page. “And you know, I was just thinking how quickly Quirk arrived at the haunted house the night of the murder.”

“Like maybe he was already there?”

“Yeah.” Skye thought about the situation, then asked, “So, are you going to call in the sheriff to take over?”

“Damn! I hate to. A lot of people say they want to kill someone, but they don’t actually go through with it. And he might have gotten to the scene so fast because he was patrolling in that area. I don’t want to ruin Quirk’s career if he’s innocent.” The stress in Wally’s voice was evident. “If the nurse can start Wednesday, and if I can get a flight home that afternoon, I’d rather handle this myself.” Wally paused. “In the meantime, don’t give Quirk any reason to think you’re still investigating, and tell Hope to make sure she’s never alone.”

“I already told her that.” Skye understood how Wally felt. After all, Quirk was innocent until proven guilty, and having a motive didn’t make him a killer.

After several minutes of silence, Wally asked, “Is there something else?”

“No.” Skye blew out a breath. “I guess I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop—and in this case it feels as if there might be three feet.”

“I know what you mean.”

Once Wally hung up, she decided to lie down. She was too ill to drive to Evie’s. Skye’s head was swimming, and she felt as if she could vomit at any moment. Had she caught the flu from Nina?

S
kye and Jackie met with Homer Tuesday morning before the first bell. His first question was, “How long is this going to take?”

“We each have twenty-five students on our list to interview, and it will take at least fifteen minutes per kid, maybe more, which means over six hours for us to see them all.” Skye answered.

“So, you can finish by the end of the day,” Homer stated.

Skye shook her head. “I can only stay until eleven.” She hoped Homer wouldn’t have a hissy fit. “Since this is an emergency, I’ll skip my time at the grade school this morning, but Jackie and I both have to be at the junior high’s PPS meeting at eleven thirty. Neva says they have a serious issue to discuss.”

Homer bared his teeth in a sarcastic smile. “What? Neva needs help redecorating her office again?”

“She didn’t tell me what it is, so I have no idea.” Skye had found that the junior high principal usually had her own agenda, and trying to change it in any way was not a good idea.

“That still gives us three hours,” Jackie chimed in. “We can get half done.”

Homer’s face turned the color of a boiled lobster, and he waved his hands in the air as if they were claws fighting off a diner intent on devouring his tail. “You two will stay until you’ve talked to every last delinquent on your list.”

“Let’s call Neva.” Skye stepped around Homer and picked up the phone on his desk. “Maybe she’ll postpone the meeting until Wednesday.”

“No.” Homer cursed softly under his breath. “If you think it’s that important, go, but come back here as soon as that meeting is finished.”

“Definitely.” Jackie beamed at him. “I’ll bring sandwiches so we can eat at the PPS meeting and not have to stop for lunch. We can probably be back here by one, and I’m sure we can finish by three.”

“I doubt it.” Skye knew better than to promise Homer what she couldn’t deliver.

“Oh, come on, Skye,” Jackie admonished. “Stop being so negative. We can do it if we really try.”

Skye gritted her teeth. Jackie was
seriously
annoying her. Skye had tried to be friendly to the woman, but it was time for an alternate approach—avoidance. From now on, unless they had to both attend the same meeting, Skye resolved to steer clear of Jackie. Whenever Jackie was in their shared office, Skye would go somewhere else.

The junior high’s art room smelled of turpentine and glue. Scraps of construction paper were scattered on the faded blue linoleum. The windows rattled as gusts of wind buffeted them, and cold air seeped around the frames, causing the student drawings thumbtacked to the bulletin board to rustle.

Principal Neva Llewellyn sat at the teacher’s desk. The other members of the Pupil Personal Services team sat at small tables for two arranged in an arc facing her. When Skye entered the room, no one was speaking.

Skye slid into an empty seat beside Madeline Weller, the special-education teacher. Ever since Wally’s ex-wife, the former special-ed teacher, had left town, they’d had a new one every school year. For some reason—perhaps the low salary, poor working conditions, or lack of respect—it was hard to keep good educators in Scumble River.

Madeline was fresh out of college, slender and petite. She looked about thirteen, and Skye had been meaning to ask how she was doing. Her caseload consisted of students with behavior disorders and learning disabilities, and most of them were boys.

Neva shot Skye an annoyed look and said, “Now that we’re finally all here, let’s begin.”

Skye checked the wall clock; she was fifteen minutes early, which would have usually ensured her being the first to arrive. What was going on?

Neva nodded to the special-ed teacher and said, “Ms. Weller, please tell the team what you reported to me yesterday morning.”

In a soft voice, the teacher said, “I coach the eighth-grade pom-pom squad.” She cleared her throat. “Yesterday the girls were all excited.”

Skye watched Neva’s expression darken and wondered what was coming.

“They wouldn’t tell me what was going on.” Madeline’s face clouded. “I knew it must be something big, because they were all giggly. So, I, uh . . .” Madeline’s cheeks reddened. “I eavesdropped.”

Jackie asked, “What did you hear?”

“A group of five girls has decided to get pregnant.” Madeline’s big blue eyes rounded in dismay. “They said they’d seen a Web site that said how cool it was to all have babies at the same time and raise them together.”

“Did you call their parents?” Skye asked Neva. Surely the principal hadn’t waited for this meeting before taking action.

“Of course,” Neva snapped. “But several of the mothers and fathers weren’t certain how to handle the situation. It’s not as if they can put the girls in chastity belts or force contraceptives down their throats.”

“Do you want me to talk to the girls?” Skye offered.

Before the principal could answer, Jackie waved her hand in the air. “Not to step on any toes”—she smiled at Skye—“but I should be the one to talk to them.”

“Why?” Neva looked at Jackie.

“Well, no offense, Skye, but social workers are better trained in counseling. Most school psychologists just test and consult.”

“That isn’t true, Jackie, at least in my school psych program.” Skye kept her expression neutral. “But if you’d like to handle this situation, I’ll step aside and concentrate on the high school’s problem.”

Neva sat back in her chair and frowned at Skye. “Shouldn’t I be the one to decide that?”

“Right.” Skye backpedaled quickly. “I meant I’d do whatever the team thinks is best.”

“Since it’s obvious Jackie is eager for the job”—Neva crossed her arms—“and this isn’t Skye’s top priority, I’d prefer Jackie to handle it.”

Skye feared her head was going to explode. Homer thought his chemical bombs should be number one on her list. Neva thought her wannabe mommies should be. Skye couldn’t wait to hear what the grade school principal considered to be her main concern.

“I’ll get right on it.” Jackie beamed.

Skye’s patience was wearing thin. “You told Homer we’d be back at the high school this afternoon to finish up the interviews there.”

“I thought you said you were going to handle that.” Jackie tossed her hair. “Since I’m needed here.”

“I meant I’d take the lead.” Skye’s stomach clenched. “But if you don’t do any of the interviews, it will take twice as long and Homer won’t be happy.”

“It seems fair to me.” Neva’s forehead wrinkled. “Homer can’t expect to monopolize both of you.” She pushed back her chair. “Jackie, after you finish with the girls, brief me before you leave.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Thank you, everyone.” Neva stood, indicating the meeting was over. “See you next week.” She put her hand on Skye’s arm as she attempted to leave. “I need a word with you before you go.”

Skye nodded, stepped aside, and waited.

Once everyone had left, Neva shut the door and said, “I’m very disappointed in you, Skye.”

Her pulse quickened.
Shit!
She had worked hard to gain the principal’s trust. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“I expected you to be the one eager to talk to those girls. Instead, you’re late to the meeting and then act as if our problem isn’t as important as the high school’s.”

“I certainly didn’t mean to imply that.” Skye fought the urge to cry. “It’s just that Jackie and I already promised Homer our time.”

“I understand your concern, but I don’t think that’s the real reason.”

“It is.” Skye was confused. “Really.”

“Maybe you think it is, but unconsciously, I think you’re a little jealous of Jackie.” Neva tilted her head. “Before she was hired, you were the one everyone turned to for assistance. Could it be that you perceive she’s taking your place and you resent it?”

“No.” Skye disputed Neva’s theory. “I’m glad for the help.” But was she? Skye pushed that doubt away.

“Fine.” Neva shrugged her shoulders. “Now, about your being late. You know I don’t tolerate tardiness.”

“I wasn’t. I was here at quarter after for our eleven-thirty meeting.”

Neva raised an eyebrow. “But the meeting was rescheduled for eleven, at your request.”

Skye stood frozen, stunned by Neva’s words. Was she losing her mind, or was someone out to get her? “I most certainly did not reschedule the meeting.”

“What do you mean, there are still eighteen kids you haven’t seen?” Homer grabbed the edge of his desk and glared at Skye, seated opposite him.

Tuesday’s dismissal bell had rung ten minutes ago, and Skye was in Homer’s office giving him a rundown on what she had discovered—which was nothing. None of the students she’d interviewed seemed to have any knowledge of the chemical bombs or their creator.