Murder of a Royal Pain (7 page)

“Did it take you very long?”

“Well, no.” Skye worded her answer carefully, “As it happens, a jogger did it for me.” She went on quickly, “Anyway—”

Wally interrupted her. “Who was the jogger? Did you know him?”

“The new reporter for the
Star.
We’d met once before at a meeting.”

“Kurt Michaels?”

“Yes. I think that’s his name,” Skye hedged. “Have you met him?”

“Yes, and there’s something about him I don’t trust. I think he’s up to something.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I’m not sure, but my gut says he’s not what he appears to be.”

“Well, he seems harmless to me. And he was nice enough to fix my flat.”

“Any decent guy would change a tire for a woman.”

“Then you’re saying he’s a decent guy?” Skye raised an eyebrow. When Wally didn’t respond, she went on, “As I was saying, I brought the tire in to be repaired this morning and the guy at the shop said it had been slashed.”

Wally shot her a sharp look. “You think one of the high school kids did it?”

“Could be. There are some troublemakers this year, and I do sit in on most of the more serious disciplinary hearings.”

“Anyone else you can think of who might want a little instant revenge?”

“One of the parents was pretty mad at me that morning.” Skye pursed her mouth, tapping her bottom lip with a fingernail. “And there was a note under my wipers that sort of sounded like something she said.”

“She a hothead?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“I don’t suppose you’ll tell me her name?”

“Can’t.” Skye’s tone was matter-of-fact. “Confidentiality. But I can give you the note when you take me home. It wasn’t signed or anything, though.”

“Yeah, let me have it. It won’t do us much good now, but I’ll start a file just in case anything else happens.” Wally blew out an irritated breath. “Another possibility is that that Michaels guy did it so he could come along, play Good Samaritan, and get into your good graces.”

“Why would he want to do that?” Skye asked, trying to maintain an innocent expression as she remembered Kurt’s last words:
I’ll look forward to collecting the rest of my payment.

“You’re pretty, smart, single, and extremely well connected in town,” Wally said.

“I’m glad you think so, but I’m hardly the type men fight duels over. If he’s after anything, it’s the well-connected part.” Skye shifted in her seat. “Though I don’t believe for a minute he’d go as far as slashing my tire to get in good with me.”

“You underestimate yourself.”

“Well, thank you.” Skye sat back. “Anyway, my money’s on the angry parent.”

They were silent until Wally parked the car at the theater. As he opened the door for her he said, “Let’s forget all about Scumble River and have a good time tonight.”

“Good idea.” She took his hand, enjoying its warmth as they walked across the parking lot and inside the building.

After a quick stop for popcorn and sodas, they made their way into the darkened theater. The only seats left were in the front row, and Skye frowned as they settled in. She hated sitting that close to the screen, and was sure it would ruin the show for her, but kept silent, not wanting Wally to think he had disappointed her.

Two hours later, when the film ended, Skye was glad she hadn’t complained. The movie had been terrific. Still caught up in the story, she absentmindedly followed Wally up the aisle toward the exit. When he paused to let someone step in front of him, she stumbled a little, and her gaze fastened on a couple sitting a few seats to her right. She blinked. What was Jackie doing with Simon Reid, Skye’s ex-boyfriend?

Skye opened her mouth to point them out to Wally, but snapped it closed without speaking. The one person whom Wally was definitely jealous of was Simon. Besides, Skye had no desire to interact with Jackie. As Wally had said in the parking lot, this was their evening to forget Scumble River.

She and Wally made it to the car without encountering her ex or the social worker, and Skye let out a sigh of relief as Wally turned east onto Route 30. The restaurant was in Crest Hill, a town of about twenty thousand adjacent to Joliet.

Merichka’s, which meant Mary’s in Slovenian, had been around since 1933. Skye’s grandparents had brought her parents there as children, and Jed and May had followed the tradition, bringing Skye and Vince there when they were little.

Skye smiled as she spotted the restaurant’s sign, a huge boomerang with a martini glass painted on it. The first time her parents took her to Merichka’s, she had asked the waitress if it was an Australian restaurant, and the woman had said no, the boomerang was a symbol that they wanted their diners to keep coming back.

Clearly the customers did return. The parking lot was packed. The only open slot was at the far end, and Wally carefully backed in his sports car. The savory smell of garlic and butter welcomed Skye as she walked through the door.

She waited at the podium as Wally gave their names to the hostess. The woman found their reservation, picked up a couple of menus, and led them up some steps, through the main dining area, and to a smaller room with windows overlooking Theodore Street.

As Wally read his menu, Skye, knowing she would have the poor-boy and double-baked potatoes, put hers aside and examined the room. There were only a half dozen tables, and most were filled with older couples or families. The exception was two teenagers who seemed to be out on their first date.

Once Wally and Skye had ordered, she gestured to the young pair and said, “Aren’t they sweet? It’s so nice to see kids on a real date. I know I’m showing my age, but the herd dating that’s popular now seems wrong to me. I can see a group as a safety net when you’re first going out, but if you never break away from the crowd, how can you get to know each other on a deeper level?”

“Maybe that’s what they’re afraid of.” Wally took her hand. “Opening yourself up to someone is scary.”

“That’s true. But if you don’t learn how to share yourself when you’re young, it’s even more terrifying when you’re older.”

“I agree. As you age, you have more and more in your past, which means you have more to hide.” His gaze was as soft as a caress. “Or the more you think you have to hide.”

Her heart raced. “Maybe people feel they have to conceal aspects about themselves because they can’t stand to face them.” Was Wally trying to say that she was hiding something—or, worse yet, that he was?

They were interrupted by the waitress serving their meal, and Skye found herself studying Wally as they ate. He was a handsome man by anyone’s standards. Tall and powerfully built, he stood out in a crowd. When he was dressed in his police uniform, the crisp navy twill showed off his wide shoulders and muscular thighs. Tonight, clad in black jeans and a silk turtleneck, his slim waist and broad chest were emphasized.

Wally caught her staring and cocked an eyebrow. She blushed and ate the last bite of her sandwich. The cube steak was tender and perfectly seasoned, and the French bread roll was crispy on the outside and soft on the inside—delicious. But abruptly Skye was hungry for something else. She glanced over at Wally and found that now he was staring.

He reached over, stroking her inner arm from wrist to elbow. “Are you finished?” His dark brown eyes held both desire and tenderness.

She nodded. Little jolts of electricity raced through her from his touch.

“Shall we go home?”

She tried to say yes, but ended up nodding, her throat too dry to speak. His question had been a passionate challenge—hard to resist.

He signaled their server and paid the bill, leaving a generous tip.

Skye’s knees buckled as she stood, and she steadied herself by taking Wally’s hand. He led her through the labyrinth of tables, the noise drowning out the thudding of her heart. They had been together for nearly a year, and his magnetism still captivated her.

They were almost through the main dining area when a whoop of laughter caught Skye’s attention. She turned toward the sound and stiffened. Sitting in a dark corner at a table for two were Simon and Jackie. Skye couldn’t see Simon’s face, which was in a shadow, but Jackie’s was animated and glowing with happiness.

Skye jerked her gaze away, taking a hasty step forward and silently urging Wally to speed up, and he quickened his steps.

As they drove back to Scumble River, Skye convinced herself that what she felt wasn’t jealousy, just astonishment. She had rushed Wally out of Merichka’s because she was eager to be in his arms, not because she didn’t want to see Simon with another woman.

Still, how had Jackie managed to meet Simon, and wasn’t it strange that Simon and Jackie had picked the same movie and restaurant that Skye and Wally had chosen? What were the odds of that happening? In a small town like Scumble River—population thirty-three hundred—it could be a coincidence, but not here in the much larger city of Crest Hill. Was Simon following her?

 

The next week melted away like a snowman in a sauna. It wasn’t merely that Skye was busy, although she was, but that she also seemed to lose chunks of time staring into space and feeling discontented. She couldn’t pinpoint what was bothering her, but plainly something was. At first she had blamed it on PMS, but her moodiness had lasted too long to be caused by monthly hormone fluctuations.

Driving to school on Monday morning, Skye vowed to be more focused and optimistic. She had a great life, and she’d better stop moping around before she messed it up. She needed to quit allowing things she couldn’t control to upset her, and to seek out her friends more, rather than locking herself away in her office or house.

Unfortunately, her resolution didn’t last much past the high school’s front door, where Homer was waiting for her. He pounced on her like a crocodile on a lion cub, chomping through her pledge to be upbeat with a single bite.

Taking her arm, he commanded, “We need to resolve this Travis Idell mess. His mother is camped out at the superintendant’s office, and Dr. Wraige is not happy.”

“The intake conference is set up for Thursday.” A meeting Skye was dreading.

She had read the reports that Mrs. Idell had brought her, and, as Travis’s mother had claimed, the private psychiatrist who had examined the teen had diagnosed him with a learning disability. But the doctor hadn’t provided the results of his assessments, and Skye couldn’t determine if he had even done any psychological evaluations—psychiatrists often didn’t. He also hadn’t returned Skye’s phone calls. To make matters worse, when she’d examined the boy’s school records, none of the group tests or any other information in his file supported the doctor’s conclusion.

“She wants to meet today.” Homer mopped his head with a bright red handkerchief. “She’ll be here for a Promfest meeting after school, and wants to meet right before that. She says two would be convenient.”

“Maybe for her.” Skye plucked her calendar out of her tote bag and flipped it open to October fourth. “I have an appointment at the grade school with the kindergarten teachers at one. I don’t think I can make it back here by two.”

“You can talk with teachers anytime.” Homer waved away her objection, turned, and walked away, hollering over his shoulder, “Dr. Wraige wants us to humor this woman and get her off his back.”

The rest of the day passed as it had begun—badly—and Skye had a throbbing headache by the time she arrived for the Idell meeting. As she took her seat, she glanced around the table, noting that only Mrs. Idell made eye contact, and her glare intensified Skye’s pain. None of the staff, which included the principal, nurse, social worker, special education teacher, and English chairperson, looked up from the papers they were all studying.

Homer cleared his throat and said, “Let’s hear your information, Ms. Denison.”

Mrs. Idell nodded as Skye summarized what the psychiatrist had written, and she smiled when Skye noted that on the group ability test Travis had scored in the superior range. On the group achievement tests, he was above grade level.

But the woman’s glare returned when Skye brought up her concern over the lack of assessment data in the psychiatrist’s report, and she snapped, “Are you telling me you think you know more than a medical doctor?”

“That’s not what I said.” Skye kept her voice even. “I said that considering that Travis has a superior IQ, is achieving at a commensurate level, and is passing all his classes, a learning disability is not indicated according to the state and federal guidelines as they exist now.”

“So you’re excluding him from services?”

“Not necessarily. Perhaps the psychiatrist did have testing done, and perhaps those results do indicate that Travis is LD, but that information is not in the report you gave me, and the doctor has not returned my calls.”

“You’re telling me we spent twenty-five hundred dollars”—Mrs. Idell’s voice shrieked like a noon factory whistle—“and you’re not going to give my son the help he needs?”

“Not at all. What I’m saying is that I need to see some details so I can figure out what type of services he requires.” Skye scooted her chair as far away as possible from the irate woman.

“I’m sick of jumping through hoops for you and this sorry excuse for a school.” Mrs. Idell pounded on the table. “Either Travis starts receiving help tomorrow morning, or I’m going to make all of you sorry—especially you, Ms. Denison.”

“
T
hat went well.” Homer sneered. He and Skye had moved to her office after Mrs. Idell had stormed away. “Just stick the little bugger in special ed. It would serve him and his mother right.”

Skye closed her eyes in an attempt to find her happy place, counted to ten, and bit her tongue, but she still blurted out, “Have I been talking to myself for the past four years? We can’t simply slap a student in special education. We need data to back up the decision. And it would not ‘serve him and his mother right.’ He needs counseling, which I’ve offered to provide on numerous occasions, and she and her husband need parenting classes, which you refuse to let me suggest to them.”