Murder of a Royal Pain

“What am I supposed to do? Hold a press conference?”

“Not altogether a bad idea.” Vince snickered, then turned serious. “You know, you could talk to some of the media about the murder and get out your side of the story.”

“No.” She pressed her fingers against her temples. “People who get in bed with the media usually get screwed.”

“But you need to nip the rumors in the bud before Mom and Dad get home.”

“I agree completely. But there has to be a better way to do it than trying to manipulate the press.” Skye thought a moment, then asked, “Who’s the reigning queen of gossip with Mom gone?”

A second later they both said, “Aunt Minnie.”

Skye asked, “Do you have any plans for supper?”

Vince shook his head, taking her non sequitur in stride.

“Are you hungry?”

“Starving.” Vince made a pitiful face. “With Mom out of town, there’s no one to bring me lunch.”

Skye bit her tongue. This wasn’t the time to remind him that a thirty-eight-year-old man should be able to make a sandwich, stick it in a brown paper bag, and bring it with him to work.

“Okay, then here’s the plan.” Skye got up. “We’ll go get something to eat at the Feed Bag—I’m driving, since you’ve had so much to drink. Afterward we’ll drop by Aunt Minnie’s and give her the real scoop.”

“Which means two minutes after we leave her house, all of Scumble River will know.”

“Exactly.”

“Are you going to let her in on why Wally’s out of town?” Vince asked.

“I probably shouldn’t if he told Quirk not to tell.”

“Wouldn’t he be more concerned about stopping all the talk than keeping his privacy?”

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you? And I’m sure he had no idea that by keeping his destination and reason for leaving a secret, he was, in fact, fueling the gossip he was trying to avoid.” Skye bit her lip. “Still, maybe I’d better check with Wally before I visit Aunt Minnie.”

“That sounds like the smart thing to do.” Vince eyed her thoughtfully. “Can you call him?”

“I’ll try his cell again, but I already left him a message to call me ASAP, and if he’s in the hospital he probably has his phone switched off.”

“He’s in the hospital?” Vince sounded shocked.

“It’s a long story, and you can’t tell anyone, but . . .” Skye filled Vince in on her Friday, starting with Wally’s call.

“Is the Promfest committee still putting on the haunted house?” Vince asked when she finished.

“Not this weekend. There was a message on my answering machine from Evie Harrison when I got up this morning. The police haven’t released the scene yet, but they told the committee that A Ghoul’s Night Out can reopen by next Friday.”

“Are you going back?”

“I don’t want to.” Skye’s voice was unsteady. “I’ll have to think about it.” Vince shot her a concerned look, but she changed the subject, telling him about Frannie’s bombshell, and ending with, “Not one of my best nights.”

“Nope.” Vince’s expression had returned morose. “Sounds as if neither one of us should have gotten out of bed yesterday.”

“Probably not.” Skye gazed out the window. “Maybe not today either.”

After Skye and Vince ate at the Feed Bag, she drove a sobered-up Vince back to his car, dropped him off, and considered her next move. She hadn’t been able to get hold of Wally—as she had predicted, his cell was switched off. She’d left another voice mail, but he hadn’t gotten back to her yet, so the visit to Aunt Minnie’s had to be postponed.

Kurt hadn’t phoned, and neither had Simon. She was both relieved and annoyed. She didn’t want to lead Simon on, or slip and give Kurt more information, but lacking the two men’s input, she had no idea what was going on in the murder investigation.

Hmm. Who else could tell her what she needed to know? Skye checked her watch. It was close to seven. Given that in the chief’s absence Quirk was in charge, he would have taken the day shift, which ended at three. So, who would be working afternoons? With any luck, Anthony would be on duty, but even if it were one of the other part-timers, she might be able to get the lowdown. And if all else failed, there was always the dispatcher, who often knew more than all the officers combined.

With that plan in mind, she headed to the police station. It was housed in the same redbrick building that also contained the city hall and town library. During the weekday, the parking lot was often crowded, but on a Saturday night Skye had her choice of spots. She pulled the Bel Air in between a purple Gremlin and a white Ford Focus. It didn’t bode well that neither vehicle looked familiar.

When Skye pushed open the glass door, a series of chimes announced her arrival. She waved at the dispatcher, who sat at a desk to Skye’s right; a shoulder-height counter with bulletproof glass reaching to the ceiling separated the woman from the reception area.

May’s friend Thea and cousin Char were the only dispatchers Skye knew well. Thea generally worked days with Wally, May worked afternoons with Quirk, and Char worked midnights.

Recently two weekend dispatchers, Silvia and Betty, had been hired to work twelve-hour shifts on Saturday and Sunday. Skye was pretty sure the one on duty tonight was Silvia, but they both were medium height and weight, with short brown hair and glasses.

Skye knocked on the glass, and Silvia—or maybe it was Betty—nodded, and buzzed her through the security door at the end of the counter.

Once inside, Skye poked her head around the corner and said, “Hi. Who’s on?”

“McCabe.” The dispatcher made a face, but didn’t turn her head. She was expected to type data into the computer, monitor the radios, and answer the phones simultaneously.

That explained the purple Gremlin. It was a car only Otto McCabe, an inept county deputy who moonlighted in Scumble River when no one else was available, would drive and/or think was cool. Quirk would have been the worst on-duty officer to run into, but McCabe was a close second.

“Is he out patrolling?”

“Yeah. He’s making the circuit. He should be back before long.”

The circuit was from one end of Basin Street to the other, and was patrolled mainly to keep an eye on the numerous bars that were scattered down its length.

“Mind if I wait?” Skye didn’t like McCabe, but he was dumb enough to let something slip if she needled him.

“Make yourself at home.”

As Skye stepped into the dispatcher’s tiny cubicle, she could make out the nameplate pinned to her uniform. It said, SILVIA; Skye had been right. “Anything interesting happening out there?”

“Nope.” Silvia continued to focus on the computer monitor. “Been pretty quiet, not like last night.”

“Yeah.” That was the opening Skye was looking for. “Phew. Last night was way too exciting.”

“You were there, right? You found the vic?”

“Yep.”

“That must have been scary, being in a haunted house and stumbling across a dead body.”

“I was terrified.” Skye slid a glance at the woman behind the desk, but she was still busy checking data on the screen. “Have they gotten any leads yet?”

“When I took over from Char this morning, she said Quirk had Dr. Paine in the interrogation room all night, but let him go around six.”

“I wonder if Quirk found out anything.”

“I doubt it.” Silvia shrugged. “He was like a bear with a pinecone up his ass.”

Skye blinked, trying to get that picture out of her head, and before she could ask any more questions she spotted Otto McCabe as he strolled through the garage entrance into the station’s coffee/interrogation room. It seemed strange to see him in the navy Scumble River police uniform rather than the tan Stanley County one.

“There’s McCabe.” Skye quickly rose from her chair. “I’d better catch him before he goes out again. See you