“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
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?
CHAPTER 10
A Night of Mystery
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
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.”
“Don’t pretend to be my friend and concerned about me.” He was even more attractive at this moment, and Skye was afraid he’d persuade her to tell him everything that had happened. “You just want a story.”
“I do want to be your friend.” He gave Skye a long look. “I want a story, too. Surely those things aren’t mutually exclusive.”
Skye handed him the keys. “Fine.” The thought of trying to navigate the dark, twisting road between the old
