Murder of a Royal Pain

couple of things that make me wonder.”

“Like what?”

“Like maybe it was someone who mistook the gas pedal for the brake.” Skye half turned to face the reporter. “You read about that in the paper all the time.”

“True.” Kurt ran his fingers through his thick blond hair. “But happening so soon after the murder . . . I don’t buy it as an accident. Maybe the murderer thinks you saw something and can identify him or her.”

“That’s an interesting theory.” An idea glimmered at the edge of Skye’s mind. “You know, Annette’s husband was at Mass today, and I heard that he was playing around on her. If he killed her, maybe he was the one who tried to run me down.” Skye frowned. “No, Linnea was with him. Surely he wouldn’t think a hit-and-run was an appropriate father-daughter activity.”

“No,” Kurt agreed, “but about ten minutes before you came out of the church, I saw Linnea get into a car with a group of friends.” Before Skye could respond, Kurt asked, “What else did Quirk say that made you think it was just an accident?”

“He said a lot of people knew Annette was dressed as a witch.”

“Oh.” Kurt thought for a half second, then said, “So what? A lot of people may have known, but all it takes is one who didn’t know.”

“That’s right,” Skye agreed. “I hadn’t thought of that. I’m sure people who were on time and already in their places didn’t know.”

“Right.” Kurt leaned back and put his tennis shoe–clad foot on the dashboard. “Quirk could still be barking up the wrong victim.”

“Great. Just when I thought I wouldn’t have to be scared anymore.” Skye shook her head. “After my little chat with Quirk, I know he’s not going to look into any other possibilities, which leaves Hope, Nina, and me dangling like worms on a hook. If the murderer wants any of us, all he has to do is snap us up.”

“If Quirk won’t investigate, we’ll have to.” Kurt turned to face Skye. “My boss says you’re the Scumble River Nancy Drew. Let’s use those talents.”

“I’m guessing the reason you’re so gung ho is that you’re hoping for an exclusive.”

“That’s one thing I’m hoping for.” Dimples appeared in Kurt’s cheeks. “A chance to spend more time with you is an added bonus.”

Skye felt a surge of attraction, and frowned at him. “Let’s keep this on a professional level.”

“Why?”

The single word sent a shiver down her spine. “Because I’m already seeing someone, as you very well know.”

“It doesn’t look as if you’re engaged.” He reached across her and captured her left hand, pretending to examine it closely. “Are you?” He kissed her wounded palm before releasing her hand.

“No, but that’s not the point.”

“My philosophy is, until you walk down that aisle and say ‘I do’ in front of a preacher, things can change.” His voice had taken on a velvety timbre, like a country singer crooning a sexy ballad.

She drew her brows together. With Wally out of town and Quirk acting like a jerk, she needed an ally who knew how to get people to open up and spill their secrets. Trixie was good, but she didn’t have Kurt’s training or the opportunities that being a reporter afforded him. From what Skye had read in his column, Kurt was a whiz at persuading Scumble Riverites to tell all.

“Look.” Kurt cut into her thoughts. “Flirting is harmless, and if it could develop into something more, don’t you want to know that before you find yourself married to the wrong guy?”

Skye reluctantly nodded. “But it won’t develop into something more.”

“Probably not, but at least we’ll have some fun.”

Skye chewed her thumbnail. Lives could be in danger. Maybe her own. “Okay.” She could handle Kurt. He was like an overgrown puppy, cute but harmless. “Here are the ground rules. One, we can’t be seen together—there’s already gossip. Two, no touching. And three, nothing in the paper until we nail the killer.”

“Fine.” Kurt’s blue eyes twinkled.“Here are my rules. One, I don’t care about gossip. Two, you can touch me anytime you want. And three, anything I find out, I print.”

Skye’s face was set in hard, tight lines. “Either we compromise or we don’t work together.”

“Compromise isn’t generally in my vocabulary, but I can compromise on that.”

“You are so not funny.” Skye blew out an exasperated breath. “Here’s my counteroffer. I really don’t want to be gossiped about, so we’re careful about being seen together, okay?”

“I can live with that.”

“If I touch you, you can touch me back, but you can’t initiate contact.”

“Sounds good.”

“We talk over any info before you publish it, and if it would mean that the killer might get away or not be convicted, you don’t put it in the paper until I say so.”

“Deal.” Kurt held out his hand.

Skye shook.

“See? I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist touching me.” Kurt’s look was teasing. “Now I get to touch you.”

“No.” Skye backed away, but there wasn’t very far she could go without getting out of the car.

“Yes.” Kurt leaned forward.

Shoot. He was going to kiss her. Right here in front of the church. Truth be told, she was a little curious. She hadn’t kissed that many men. There had been her high school boyfriend, the guy she dated in college, the one she met in the peace corps, her ex-fiance, Simon, and Wally.

Each one had been better than the guy before him. Could Kurt top Wally? She closed her eyes. She could feel his breath on her face and she resigned herself to the inevitable. But instead of masculine lips pressed against hers, Skye felt a gust of wind. She shivered and her eyelids flew open. Kurt was standing outside the car.

He smiled. “I’ll take a rain check on my touch.” He leaned down. “In the meantime, why don’t you look into Hope Kennedy’s enemies, and I’ll see what I can discover about Nina Miles. We both should try to find out what skeletons Annette had in her closet.”

“Okay.” Kurt started to walk away, and Skye called after him, “Wait a minute. I locked my car before going into Mass. How did you get inside?”

“You drive an old ragtop.” He reached in his pocket and showed her a folded length of metal clothes hanger. “Piece of cake.”

Shoot! Shoot! Shoot! Skye pounded the steering wheel as she drove home. Why did she get the feeling she had sold her soul to the devil with the blue jeans on?

The remainder of Skye’s Sunday was a waste. When she’d talked to Wally before church, she’d forgotten to tell him about the gossip and get his permission to tell her aunt about his real reason for leaving town, so she wasn’t able to take care of that chore. And neither Hope Kennedy nor Evie Harrison was answering either the door or the phone. The only task she had accomplished was grocery shopping.

Eight o’clock Monday morning, Skye sat at her desk in the high school and stared bleary eyed at Travis Idell’s file. The psychiatrist was still not returning Skye’s calls, and Mrs. Idell was growing more and more enraged by the school’s lack of action. She was now threatening to bring the matter to due process, which had thrown Homer into a tizzy.

He had threatened and cajoled Skye, but she had stood firm, agreeing only to review the file once more. Now, as she looked over the paperwork in Travis’s folder for the fifth time, she was again amazed that a professional had allowed an assessment of such poor quality to leave his office. She’d seen some badly written reports in her time, but this one was a doozy.

Her favorite line was, Travis appears to have a slight case of dyslexia, and because of this the principle has suspended him from school on several occasions.

However, no matter how amusing she found the report, the bottom line was that there was nothing in it to support the idea that Travis had a learning disability. She had already explained to Homer that if everyone else on the PPS team agreed Travis qualified for service, the team could put him in special education. At that point, she would write a dissenting opinion, but her statement would not interfere with the placement.