Murder of a Royal Pain

American Legion hall and her house was overwhelming. “But I’m not talking to you.” He was right: She wasn’t in any shape to drive.

“Okay, whatever you say.”

As he started the Chevy, he commented, “I really love this car. I don’t suppose you’d consider selling it. I always wanted a vintage Bel Air.”

Skye ignored him. He wasn’t getting her to talk that easily.

“So, do you think A Ghoul’s Night Out will be open tomorrow?”

She shrugged, praying that the answer was no. She never wanted to step foot in that building again, especially while it was still decorated as a haunted house.

“It’d be a shame to waste everyone’s work.” Kurt shot her a quick glance.

“True.”

“I’ll bet it will be open.” He twisted the wheel to avoid a pothole. “No way will Annette Paine let anything short of a nuclear war stand in her way. Closing down a big moneymaker like this would ruin her. She’d be impeached, and Evie would get to be the Promfest chair.”

“I doubt Annette will care.” Crap! The words had popped out of her mouth before she could stop them. “I, uh, I mean that—”

“Why would Annette all of a sudden stop being obsessed with this fund-raiser?”

Skye bit her lip.

“Did something happen to Annette? Was she the one in the body bag?”

Skye closed her eyes.

“Don’t try pretending you’re asleep.” Kurt pulled the Bel Air over to the side of the road. “Not after dropping that bombshell.”

“I can’t tell you.” Skye gritted her teeth. “Now, start this car moving or I’m getting out.”

“I’m truly not trying to be a jerk about this, but I need to know what happened.”

“No, you don’t need to know.” Skye unbuckled her seat belt. “You want to know.”

“You’re wrong.”

“First, the paper doesn’t even come out until Wednesday, and I’m sure the police will make a statement in plenty of time for you to get the story in that edition.” Skye fingered the door handle. She really didn’t think she had the energy to walk home, but she wouldn’t let him bully her into saying anything more.

“What’s second?” Kurt reached across her and rebuckled her seat belt.

“Second.” Skye held up two fingers. “Second, freedom of the press does not mean the press gets to trample all over other people’s freedoms.”

“I agree.”

“You do?” Skye was so startled she forgot what her third reason had been and instead asked, “Since when do reporters think that any other freedom is as important as the First Amendment?”

“Not all reporters are blind to the implications of what happens when that freedom is abused.”

“The ones I’ve met have been.”

“Are you sure?”

Skye groaned and rested her pounding head on the back of the seat. “I’ve had a terrible day and I’m really tired.” She wasn’t up to participating in a philosophical discussion. “Won’t you please just drive me home?”

“Okay.” Kurt sighed and started the car. “But I hope there doesn’t come a time when you’re sorry you refused to tell me what I need to know.”

“I hope so, too.” There was an expression on his face she couldn’t read. Was he threatening her? His words gave that impression, but his body language seemed to be saying something else.

Skye could see her driveway ahead when Kurt said, “Look, I promise what you tell me is off the record. Just nod. Is Annette Paine dead?”

Not sure why she was giving in, Skye nodded.

“Was she murdered?”

Skye shrugged—though she was fairly sure Annette had been murdered. Why else would she be clutching a rope that had clearly been tightly pressed across her neck at one time?

“Shit!” Kurt pounded the steering wheel.

Skye nodded again. The whole thing was, indeed, shitty.

They were both silent as Kurt stopped the Bel Air in front of her house; then Skye said, “Thank you for driving me home. Go ahead and take the Bel Air back to the American Legion. I’ll get someone to give me a ride there to pick it up tomorrow.”

“What about the keys?”

“Put them under the floor mat and lock the doors.” Skye got out of the car. “I’ve got another set.”

“Okay.” His thoughts were clearly elsewhere. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Not if I can help it,” she muttered to herself as she waved, watching him make a three-point turn, then drive away in a cloud of dust. Kurt Michaels was a dangerous man—smart, attractive, and he had a silver tongue. Any one of those traits could get her in trouble; all three together spelled heartache for some unsuspecting woman. Skye vowed to avoid him in the future.

The steps leading to her front porch looked like Mount Everest as she started her climb. She concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, and when she reached the top, she took a deep breath. Before she could exhale, she heard the porch swing squeak.

She whirled around and stared into the darkness. “Who’s there?”

Running footsteps answered her.

CHAPTER 11

It’s a Jungle Out There

“Ms. D, where have you been?” Frannie Ryan flung herself at Skye. “I’ve been waiting hours and hours for you.”

Frannie was a little taller than average, and a lot curvier than was fashionable. During Frannie’s years at Scumble River High, Skye had tried to help the size-fourteen adolescent navigate the size-four high school world. When Frannie left for college a month ago, Skye had prayed that the girl’s hard-won confidence wouldn’t be lost.

“Frannie, you scared the heck out of me.” Skye extracted herself from the teenager’s hug.

“It’s just that I’m so glad to see you.” Frannie’s brown eyes were shiny with tears that she quickly blinked away; then she said, “And it’s freezing out here.”

“Yeah, two weeks ago it was in the seventies; then we had a hard freeze Tuesday night and the temperature hasn’t warmed up much since then.” Skye observed that Frannie wore only a T-shirt, jeans, and a fleece hoodie, none of which were warm enough to spend much time outdoors in during an Illinois October. “Wasn’t it cold in Chicago?”

“Not as bad.” Frannie twisted a glossy brown lock of hair around her finger. “You know the lake effect keeps it warmer there.”

“Right.” Skye noticed that Frannie had cut and flat-ironed her nearly waist-length waves. Her hair now hung in a straight curtain to the middle of her back. Skye decided to ignore the girl’s change in appearance and ask the more important question. “Are you home for a visit?” Not that that would explain why Frannie was camped out on Skye’s porch so late at night, but she had to start somewhere.

Her teeth chattering, Frannie stammered, “I-it’s a long story. Can we go inside?”

“Of course. Let me find my keys.” Skye reached into her backpack and started digging through her possessions before it dawned on her that her house keys were on the same ring as her car keys. “Shoot.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Kurt has them.”

“Who’s Kurt?” Frannie narrowed her eyes. “If you broke up with the chief, why didn’t you go back to Simon?”