CHAPTER 22
Destiny Awaits
“You think someone put poison in my cookies?” Skye squeaked. That was just plain wrong—Oreos were sacred, the food of the gods. People should respect that.
“Your imagination has run away with you, Reid,” Wally said, his voice edged with impatience.
“Not at all.” Simon’s tone was unruffled. “As Skye will tell you, I don’t have an imagination. I only deal in cold, hard facts.”
“And they are?”
“When I saw Skye on Wednesday, she mentioned she’d been feeling sick on and off for the past few days. Her symptoms, together with Gloria’s death and some further evidence, made me consider the possibility of poisoning.”
Wally turned his scowl on Skye. “You never told me you weren’t feeling well.”
Skye felt like an escaped prisoner caught in a searchlight. “The flu is going around. I thought I was getting it.”
“But you told Reid you were sick.”
“When he stopped by to discuss the case, he noticed I was under the weather.”
Wally’s face was expressionless, but his hands were clenched by his sides. “Sounds like you two have been spending quite a bit of time together while I’ve been gone.”
Skye opened her mouth, but Simon answered first. “With Quirk refusing to consider any other scenario for Annette Paine’s death, we’ve been sharing information.” He met Wally’s stare. “But that’s all. Skye has made it clear it’s strictly business.”
“But you wished she hadn’t.” Wally didn’t blink.
“Can’t blame a guy for trying.” Simon crossed his arms.
The two men reminded Skye of a pair of male lions preparing to fight for the right to lead the pride. First Kurt, now Simon; Wally’s jealousy was getting out of hand. It was time to step in and get the discussion back on target.
She raised her voice. “If you are both through discussing me as if I weren’t here, I’d like to know what other evidence Simon found that suggests my cookies were poisoned.”
Simon refocused his attention on Skye. “When I examined the cookies’ packaging with a magnifying glass, I noticed evidence of tampering. Skye had torn the cellophane down the middle, but prior to that, someone had teased it open at the crimped end and glued it back together. And when I looked at the cookies themselves, I detected tiny holes in the edges of the cream centers—as if they had been injected with something.”
“You know”—Skye replayed the past week in her head—“I don’t think this was the first package of cookies that was dosed. I remember eating a cookie on Tuesday from a previous package that tasted funny.”
“Did you throw the rest away?” Simon asked.
“No.” It was embarrassing to admit it, but she didn’t want to lie. “There were only a couple left, and the flavor was okay if I ate them whole, rather than licking off the cream center from the chocolate wafer.”
“Hmm.” Simon stroked his chin. “When did you start this package?”
“Wednesday. And I had some again on Friday, as well, and those were the days I felt sick. I didn’t eat any on Thursday, and I felt fine that day.”
Simon nodded. “I’ve asked the ME to do a tox screen on the victim, and I’ll ask the county lab to test the remaining cookies. I have a book on poisons and, comparing your symptoms, I should be able to narrow it down for them.”
“That’s a good plan,” Wally agreed. “But why did Gloria die when Skye only got sick?”
Simon rocked back on his heels. “Gloria may have had an allergy or preexisting condition that made her more susceptible.”
“That sounds logical,” Wally said. “I’ll have the cellophane from the cookies fingerprinted, as well as Skye’s desk.” He turned to her. “Who has access to this office?”
“Anyone who’s in the school building,” Skye answered. “As long as the confidential material is locked away in the file cabinet, I don’t lock the door every time I leave for a minute. Then there are the master keys, which the main office and all the custodians have.”
Simon pointed out, “It doesn’t really matter. The locks on these doors are fairly easy to pick.” He added, “Since Skye is in danger, I’m asking that this case be considered urgent, and I hope to have the results by Monday.”
“Good.” Wally put his hand on Skye’s waist and guided her toward the door, saying over his shoulder, “Keep me informed.”
On Saturday, while Wally spent his time catching up on police matters, Skye tried to figure out who was trying to kill her. Even if Simon was right, and her cookies had been poisoned, that didn’t tell her whether she had been the intended victim from the beginning, or had become a target because Annette’s killer thought she had seen something.
Skye shivered, then straightened her spine. She wasn’t going to let the killer scare her. She wasn’t going to give him that much power. Besides, Mrs. Idell was being held until Monday’s bail hearing on the concealed-weapon charge from Friday night’s haunted-house incident, which meant that she, for one, wouldn’t be coming after Skye for the next two days.
Wally had found out that both Mr. and Mrs. Idell drove BMWs, vehicles that didn’t look at all like the car that had tried to run down Skye last Sunday, but he still wanted to question Zinnia, so he was going over to the Laurel County Jail to interrogate her at ten a.m.
Which left Annette’s enemies for Skye to consider. Skye evaluated the suspects. She’d already talked to Nina and Evie, and she was convinced that neither of them would risk giving Linnea an advantage in the race for prom queen by killing her mother.
Which was exactly what the two mothers of the other queen candidates said when Skye stopped by their houses Saturday afternoon. Kurt hadn’t been able to find anyone else with a grudge against Annette, and Skye was running out of people to interrogate.
She considered going to see Elvira Doozier. Earl’s statement had raised some important questions that only she could answer, but with a Doozier, often the direct approach wasn’t the way to go. Especially since Elvira’s sister-in-law would probably refuse to let Skye talk to the girl without extorting another Wal-Mart outfit from her. Glenda had already blackmailed Skye once that weekend, dangling Earl’s information over her head for bait, and it wasn’t going to happen again.
After careful consideration, Skye decided to concentrate on Dr. Paine. Knowing that he saw patients from eight a.m. to four p.m. on Saturdays, she decided to chat with him at the haunted house that evening. Wally wasn’t thrilled when she called him and told him her plan, but he agreed, as long as she took Anthony with her for backup.
Skye and the young officer arrived at the old American Legion hall early. Anthony stationed himself within earshot, but out of sight, and Skye approached Dylan Paine, who was playing a handheld video game as he reclined on the operating table in the Frankenstein scene.
“Hi, Dr. Paine.”
“Hello, Skye.” He sat up, appearing sheepish. Even though he hadn’t seen Skye when she’d opened the door on him and Evie, he’d probably noticed afterward that she’d signed in at the exact same time he’d been “thoroughly occupied.”
Skye felt no obligation to spare his feelings. “I stopped by for my Thursday appointment, but you were busy with Evie.”
“Oh. Yeah. The receptionist forgot to tell me you were coming in. Sorry.” Dylan gave her a “boys will be boys” smile. “Did you reschedule?”
“No. I didn’t really have a toothache; I just wanted to talk to you.”
“About what?”
“Your wife’s murder.”
Dylan frowned. “She wasn’t murdered. The police said it was an accident.”
