Murder of a Royal Pain

CHAPTER 1

Let the Good Times Roll

On Mondays, school psychologist Skye Denison liked to play a game called Name That Disaster as she made the ten-minute drive to work. It entailed guessing which calamity, catastrophe, or cataclysm would be waiting for her when she arrived.

Skye’s assignment included the elementary, junior high, and high schools in Scumble River, Illinois. This meant the crises could vary from a little boy who misunderstood his mother’s instructions to stick it out, to a thirteen-year-old methamphetamine user who thought he was Superman trying to fly from the roof of the junior high, to a cheerleader holding her own private sex party for the winning basketball team . . . or any little messes in between.

It was assumed Skye would automatically take on any duty that even bordered the realm of special education. In addition, her job description was vague enough to allow the principals to assign her any task they didn’t wish to perform—up to and including picking up their dry cleaning, although, to be fair, none of them had tried that yet.

One of the chores Homer Knapik, the high school principal, had recently handed over to Skye was to be faculty liaison to the Promfest committee. Promfest was an event designed to discourage the junior and senior classes and their dates from getting drunk, crashing their cars, and making babies after the prom.

Homer had assured Skye that it was an easy assignment: Just attend a few meetings and help put up some crepe paper. But as she approached the high school cafeteria, where the first gathering of the Promfest committee was being held, she could hear the raised voices through the closed doors, and she knew the principal had lied to her—again.

Skye crept into the cavernous space, willing herself to become invisible, which was a stretch, considering her generous curves, long, curly chestnut hair, and dramatic emerald green eyes. Her back against the rear wall, she surveyed the crowd.

The room was filled almost entirely with women in their late thirties and early forties. An occasional male also occupied the picnic-style tables arranged in rows facing the stainless-steel serving counter, but the men gave the impression they were ready to make a run for freedom at any moment.

Skye noticed one guy sitting by himself, and took a seat at his table. He was the only man in the room who didn’t look as if he wished he were somewhere else. Instead, his expression veered between amusement and disbelief as he scribbled furiously in a small notebook.

Skye smiled at him and asked, “Who are they?” gesturing to the front of the room, where two attractive women stood nose-to-nose yelling at each other.

“The one with the black hair is Annette Paine, and the blonde is Evie Harrison. They both think they’re this year’s Promfest chairwoman.”

“And they want to be?” Skye couldn’t imagine why anyone would actively seek that position. “Why?”

“Lots of power and a good way to strengthen their daughters’ chances of being elected prom queen.” He gave Skye a sidelong glance. “Both of them are former queens themselves—Evie in 1983, and Annette in 1982.”

“Oh. I heard they were campaigning for their daughters, but didn’t realize Promfest was a part of the battle.” Skye cringed. “This is going to get ugly.”

“Already has.”

Abruptly the shouting increased in volume, and Skye’s attention was drawn back to the front of the room. Several women had left their seats. About half were crowded behind Annette, and the remaining faction stood behind Evie. It was beginning to look a lot like a scene from West Side Story. Skye wondered which were Sharks and which were Jets.

“I don’t know where you got the impression that you were chairing this committee.” Annette poked Evie in the shoulder with a perfectly manicured fingernail.

“I got the impression from the election last year.” Evie bristled. “You remember the election, don’t you?”

Annette smoothed a strand of hair back into her chignon. “That vote was invalid. We didn’t have a quorum. The legitimate election took place the next week.” Her icy blue gaze lasered into the brown eyes of her rival. “As I recall, you claimed you couldn’t make it because you had to visit your parents in Florida.”

“You deliberately held that meeting while I was gone.” Evie stamped her Etienne Aigner–shod foot on the worn gray linoleum. “A meeting you had no right to call.”

“As the assistant chair of the prior year’s committee, I was certainly within my rights to call a meeting.” Annette flicked a piece of lint from her Yves Saint Laurent cashmere cardigan.

“That committee had already been disbanded.” Evie’s voice climbed into that high, squeaky pitch that only other women and dogs can hear. “You had no authority whatsoever.”

“You’re questioning my authority?” Annette seemed to be struggling for breath, and one of her lackeys handed her an inhaler. Impatiently she took a quick puff, then said to Evie, “I wouldn’t go down that road if I were you.” When Evie’s silence lengthened, Annette prodded: “What? Are you lost in thought?” She arched a flawlessly plucked brow and mocked, “I imagine that’s pretty unfamiliar territory for you.”

Evie lunged at her rival, hands wrapping around Annette’s throat. Annette grabbed two handfuls of Evie’s hair and pulled. Before Skye could react, the two women’s supporters had dragged them apart.

Both groups stood panting and glaring at one another until a voice from one of the tables rang out: “Let’s just take another vote and get on with it. Some of us have lives.”

The women who were still seated clearly didn’t care who the chair was and murmured their agreement, but the ones standing protested.

Skye looked at her watch and blew out an impatient breath. Much as she hated to get involved, she would have to become an active participant and hurry the committee along. If she didn’t get out of here by the end of first hour, her whole morning’s schedule would be messed up. She was supposed to be starting Brady Russell’s three- year reevaluation.

Students who received special education services were required by law to be tested by the school psychologist triennially. These reevals made up the bulk of her duties, and if she fell behind, she would have to cut her counseling and consultation hours—the part of her job she most enjoyed.

She required at least ninety minutes without interruption to give Brady the intelligence test. She would have to find another couple of hours to administer the academic and processing assessments on another day, not to mention time to do the classroom observation, teacher interviews, write the report, and attend the multidisciplinary meeting. Some school districts had gone to abbreviated reevals, but not Scumble River.

With the clock ticking away precious minutes, Skye stood, ready to make an impassioned plea along the lines of “Can’t we all just get along?” when Annette leaned toward Evie and whispered furiously in the blonde’s ear. Evie narrowed her eyes, jerked her chin for Annette to follow her, and moved away from the others.

Skye moved closer to the man next to her and lowered her voice. “Aside from Evie and Annette wanting their daughters elected prom queen, I can’t imagine why being in charge of putting up a few streamers, hiring a deejay, and setting out some chips and punch is such a big deal.”

“Where have you been? From what I’ve heard this morning, maybe that was true when Promfest was originally conceived, but each year the parents try to outdo what was done before. Nowadays they take over half the school, set up inflatable adult-size ball pits and crawling tubes, hire magicians and hypnotists, and give away door prizes that range from dorm-size refrigerators to flat-screen TVs.”

“You’re kidding!” Shoot! She had heard rumblings from the students that Promfest had become more elaborate, but she hadn’t taken too much notice, since most of the kids she worked with had more serious problems than what to do after the prom—not that many of them even attended the dance.

“Not at all.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. “There’re also the party favors, which last year consisted of a full-size wheeled suitcase filled with DVDs, popcorn, chocolates, et cetera.”

“Holy smokes.” Skye was stunned. Note to self: Pay more attention to what’s going on in the whole school, not just the part concerning the kids I work with.

“Think a teenage Chuck E. Cheese party on steroids,” he added.

While Skye was attempting to come to terms with that image, a loud gasp drew her gaze to where Annette