Murder of a Royal Pain

said you had something to discuss with me?” She felt herself sway.

“Hey, are you all right?” Kurt’s expression became serious, and he helped her to the settee.

“I think I’m getting a bug.” Skye rested her head on the seat back and closed her eyes. She’d be fine if only the room would stop spinning.

“Guess that means no kisses,” Kurt teased. “Don’t want to get your germs.”

“Look. I feel lousy, so if you have something important to say, say it. Otherwise, I need to lie down.”

“Sure. Sorry.” Kurt sat next to Skye and put his hand on her forehead. “It doesn’t feel like you have a fever, but you are pale.”

She was touched by his concern. “Maybe it’s something I ate.”

“Can I get you something? Alka-Seltzer? Pepto-Bismol? I could run to the pharmacy.”

“No, thank you.” He was much more attractive when he wasn’t playing the fool, and despite feeling rotten, Skye found herself extremely conscious of his appeal.

“So, did you find out anything?” Kurt asked.

“Not much.” Skye quickly told him about the scene Trixie had witnessed at the grocery store between Dr. Paine and his younger daughter’s teacher, and then about Evie’s refusal to talk to her. She didn’t tell him about Hope’s fear of Quirk or what Simon had told her, since both had sworn her to secrecy.

“Interesting. I’d heard Paine was a womanizer, but didn’t know he was that slimy.” Kurt raised an eyebrow. “I wonder what Evie’s hiding.”

“I wish I knew.” Skye twitched her shoulders. “Maybe she’ll talk to you.”

“I’ll give it a try, but don’t hold your breath.”

Skye made a face, then asked, “What have you found out?”

“Annette’s only interest was her social standing. She didn’t owe anyone money, and people thought she was bossy and annoying, but no one seemed to hate her enough to kill her.”

“Except maybe her husband.” When Kurt nodded, she asked, “How about Nina Miles?”

“If she was supposed to be the victim, it was self-defense. Nina was probably boring the murderer to death.”

“Oh?” Skye felt the corner of her lips turn up. “Not your most entertaining interview, I take it?”

“She seems to have no life of her own. All she could talk about was her three daughters. Her oldest daughter, Farrah, seems to be a bit of a disappointment. But her middle one, Bree, is the most popular girl in high school, and her youngest, Shawna, is going to be a Broadway star. It seems without her, the dance school in town couldn’t even put on a recital, since she helps all the other girls with their performances.”

“Yeah, and if she doesn’t get the leading role she scalps the competition.” Skye told Kurt how Shawna had cut the hair of a fellow third grader in order to dance the lead in Rapunzel.

“Why am I not shocked?” Kurt’s dimples appeared. “Though Nina’s main obsession right now is getting Bree voted prom queen.” Kurt scratched his head. “The prom isn’t until May, right? Seven months away?”

“Right, but the moms have turned it into a yearlong competition.”

“Maybe those women are killing each other.”

Skye had wondered that herself when Frannie mentioned how intense the prom queen and king competition had become, but now that she had thought about it more, she said, “They wouldn’t do that.”

“Why not? Nina sounded pretty ruthless. I doubt she’d let a little thing like murder stand in her way. After all, she admitted to blackmail. Do you know these moms have parties for the kids who are in the running for king and queen, and take pictures of any behavior that they can use against them?”

Skye shook her head. She hadn’t known, though she wasn’t surprised. “But murdering one of the other candidates’ mothers wouldn’t help get her daughter elected, because the victim’s daughter would get the sympathy vote.” Skye struggled to her feet. “Now if one of the girls ended up dead, that would be a different story.”

Kurt raised his eyebrows. “And I thought the people I covered in my last job were twisted.”

“Who were they?” Skye guided Kurt toward the front door and opened it.

“Politicians.”

After Kurt left, Skye checked her messages and found one from Wally. He hadn’t been able to arrange for his father’s nurse to start early. Since he wouldn’t be home until late Friday night, he had spoken to the new sheriff, who had agreed to keep an off-the-record eye on Quirk until Wally got back to town.

Skye blew out a frustrated breath, then headed upstairs to lie down. The only good thing about feeling sick was that she didn’t have the energy to be scared.

Skye felt much better in the morning, and since she had recovered health-wise, she decided to work on her lingering depression by wearing one of her new fall outfits. She chose olive twill slacks, a matching T-shirt, and a short olive, rust, and brown jacket. To complete the look, she slipped on chunky gold earrings, a bangle bracelet, and the brown Coach pumps she had found on sale for seventy percent off at TJMaxx.

Because of the weekly PPS meeting at seven thirty, Skye’s schedule called for her to spend Thursday mornings at the elementary school. The team met in the special-ed room, which was about half the size of the other classrooms. It held only twelve desks—arranged in three pods of four each—and the student chairs of molded orange plastic were designed for the height and build of six- and seven-year-olds.

The sole adult chair was behind the teacher’s desk, and although Skye was the first to arrive, she knew better than to try to claim it. Some battles weren’t worth fighting.

Next to appear was Abby, the school nurse. She and Skye immediately started to take the chairs off the tops of the student desks, where they had been placed at the end of the previous day.

They were removing the last two when the special-education teacher, Yvonne Smith, came in. As usual, she was dressed in a full denim skirt and an oxford-cloth blouse—today’s was blue. Yvonne was what most people pictured when they thought of an elementary school teacher—round and soft, with a halo of gray-brown curls and a smiling face.

Next to turn up was Belle Whitney, the speech therapist, who took a seat next to Abby. Belle looked like a can of Reddi-wip that had exploded. Her pale blond hair was arranged in fluffy curls and feathery waves, and her rose pink dress was made of a diaphanous material with rows of ruffles around the neck, sleeves, and hem. Even her eyeglasses had loops and curlicues on the frames.

Jackie and the grade school principal were the last to arrive. Jackie’s hand was on Caroline’s arm, and she was whispering in her ear.

The principal, a tiny woman with a puff of white hair, patted Jackie’s cheek and said, “Thank you, my dear. You are just the sweetest thing to volunteer for recess duty. Our ‘specials’ usually claim they’re too busy.” Turning her attention to the assembled group, Caroline smiled, took a seat, and plucked gold-rimmed reading glasses from the pocket of her blazer. “Shall we start?” She peered at the list she had put on the table. “Our most pressing concern this morning is a new student. Vassily Warner is five years old and recently adopted from Russia.”

“Do we have records on him?” Abby asked.

“None.”

“Has he ever attended school?” Yvonne asked.

“All his adoptive parents know is that he’s been in an orphanage since birth,” Caroline reported. “They were assured he is healthy, but that’s it.”

Dang. From what Skye had read about Russian orphanages, she knew that in many, the preschool-age children spent most of their days alone in cagelike cribs. “Will the parents bring him in for an assessment?”

“Yes.” Caroline handed Skye a Post-it note. “Here’s their number. They’d like him to start school as soon as possible.”

Skye hastily looked through her appointment book. “I’ll call them this morning and try to set something up for tomorrow afternoon.”

“I’d like to see him then, too, if that’s okay?” Belle looked up from her own appointment book.

“Great.” Skye’s pencil hovered. “Is Friday at one good for you?”

“It’s fine.” Belle made a note in her calendar.

Abby said, “I’ll stop by, too, and see if the parents have any health records.”

“Uh . . .” Caroline cleared her throat. “There’s only one problem.”