Department, which made her Quirk’s colleague, not some civilian. “I take it that, since the paramedics are gone, the woman’s dead?”
Quirk didn’t answer; instead he asked, “How long ago did you find her?”
“I’d guess close to fifteen minutes ago, but I can’t say for sure.”
“Has anyone else been in here?”
“Not since I found her.” Skye shook her head. “I persuaded the guys from the control room not to come in. Instead I had them call you and post guards at the exits.”
“How did they know you needed help in the first place? Did they just happen by?”
“No.” Skye explained about the panic button, then added, “As well as working the sound system and the lights, the men act as a sort of security force for the haunted house.”
Quirk made a note on the pad he had taken from his shirt pocket. “Did you touch anything?”
“Yes.” Skye recalled her movements. “The door, the wall from the door to the light switch, the switch, her neck, shoulder, and wrist. Oh, and I also wiped some makeup from her mouth with my skirt.”
“Son of—” Quirk cut himself off and gave her a sour look. “You contaminated the scene.”
“What was I supposed to do?” Skye put her hands on her hips. “It was pitch-black. I didn’t even know she was there until I tripped over her. Then I had to see if I could help her.”
He clamped his lips shut, took her arm, and led her to the door.
“Did you call the coroner?” Skye persisted. She certainly had no desire to stay with the body, but she suspected Quirk had never handled a murder on his own.
“I’ve got it all under control.” Quirk nearly pushed her over the threshold. “You stay here and don’t let anyone but the officials in.”
“But I need to tell you—”
Quirk shut the door before she could finish.
She yelled through the wood, “Someone needs to find Countess Dracula.” There was no response, and Skye doubted that Quirk had heard her.
The news that something awful had happened spread quickly, and as Skye stood with her back to the door, the cast and crew gathered around her and shouted questions.
“Did you really find a body?”
“Who is it?”
“Were they murdered?”
“I can’t say anything.” Skye held up her hands in a quieting gesture. “The police have arrived and are handling it.”
“Ms. Denison, why did you want to find Evie Harrison?” asked a girl dressed as a zombie cheerleader.
“What are you talking about?” Skye puckered her brow. “I’m not looking for Mrs. Harrison.”
The undead cheerleader toyed with the fake knife sticking out of her chest. “I heard you shout that you needed someone to find Countess Dracula—that’s Evie Harrison.”
“I see.” Skye digested that information. She wished she had a list of cast members and their roles. “In that case, I
No one answered, but the cheerleader poked Skye in the arm with a pom-pom. “So why do you want her?”
“I need to ask her something,” Skye equivocated, not willing to explain that she had encountered Evie near the body, or that Evie had run off screaming.
“Oh.” The teen scratched at the makeup that made one side of her face look as if it had been shredded.
“Why are you so interested?” Skye asked.
“Evie’s my mom.” The girl bit her lip. “And it’s sort of weird that she’s not here with everyone else. I thought maybe she was hurt or something.”
“You’re Cheyenne, right?” The teen nodded and Skye reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. “The last time I saw your mom, she was fine.” Skye crossed her fingers. Evie had been physically okay. “Hey, I bet you know everyone here, right?”
“Maybe.” Cheyenne’s expression became guarded. “So what?”
“Do you know the other two witches? The ones dressed like me?”
“Yeah. I know them. Mrs. Kennedy was my teacher in grade school, and the other is Bree’s mom.” Cheyenne pointed to a trio of zombie cheerleaders.
“Have you seen either one around here since the police arrived?”
“Not that I remember.” Cheyenne turned to go.
“I’ll keep an eye out for your mom.” Skye took a step after her. “And you let me know if you see Mrs. Kennedy or Mrs. Miles.”
The girl nodded, then walked away and joined a group of teenagers who stood in a tight cluster as far from the adults as possible. The kids were laughing and joking, and seemed fine, though a couple of the girls kept sneaking worried peeks in the direction of the door Skye was guarding.
What did she know about the other two witches? Skye mentally went through the Rolodex in her mind, trying to dredge up information. She had met Nina Miles a couple of years ago. Her oldest daughter, Farrah, had been a member of the cheerleading squad whose captain had been murdered. And during that same period, her youngest daughter, Shawna, had cut off the hair of one of her classmates in order to stop the other girl from performing the starring role in the annual dance recital. If Nina was the dead witch, that meant three children were now motherless.
Not that she wanted the body to be that of Hope Kennedy.
She pinched herself, but other than a red mark on her arm, nothing had changed: She was still standing in the drafty hallway of the old American Legion hall. The crowd had backed off and was now milling around in small knots. Skye knew they should all be separated and not allowed to talk to one another, but what could she do? There were just too many of them.
As she strained to hear fragments of conversations, several Scumble River police officers arrived, followed closely by Simon Reid, who, in addition to owning the town funeral home and bowling alley, was also the county coroner.
Skye stepped aside and let the officers and Simon through the door. Simon touched her hand briefly as he passed. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” She looked up into his concerned golden hazel eyes and tried to smile. “Just a little shaken up.”
He patted her shoulder and nodded, then hurried into the passageway.
A few seconds later Anthony, one of the PD’s part-timers, came back out and said, “Roy told me to take over for you. We can’t do much until County gets here.”
Scumble River was too small to have its own crime scene techs, and called on those from the sheriff’s department when they needed forensic evidence collected.
Skye nodded. “Does he want me to do anything else?”
Anthony looked uncomfortable. Skye had helped his little sister get the special instruction she needed in school, and he was one of her biggest fans. He stared at his shoes. “Uh, no, not exactly.”
“Not exactly?” she prompted.
“Uh, he said he didn’t need your help.”
“Oh.” Skye felt her face flush. She hadn’t realized that Quirk didn’t like her, or at least didn’t like her working with the police.
“I think maybe Roy is a little, uh . . . I mean, this is probably his first murder without the chief around, and he might be feeling a little . . .”
“Overwhelmed? Defensive? Pressured?” Skye suggested.
“Yeah. All of those.” Anthony’s eyes glinted with amusement. “Chief Boyd will straighten things out when he gets back. Don’t worry. The rest of us know you’re okay.”
“Thanks.” Skye paused, considering whether to mention the Countess Dracula incident to Anthony or wait
