Murder of a Royal Pain

“But he’d be a fool not to utilize your talents,” Simon said matter-of-factly.

Skye was too surprised to do more than nod. She would have bet good money that Simon didn’t place much value on what she did for the police department, that he disapproved of her involvement in investigations. She narrowed her eyes. Which of her other assumptions about Simon were wrong?

“I’m guessing Roy’s lack of an invitation is not going to deter you from looking into this case,” Simon said.

The denial died on her lips when she saw the devilish look in his eyes. “I can help. I’m familiar with the people and the haunted-house setup.”

“So, what do you want to know?” Simon took her arm and steered her to a more secluded area.

“You said the victim hasn’t been identified yet, but were you able to determine a time of death?”

“According to the liver temp, between when you found her and thirty minutes prior.”

Skye rummaged in her backpack for a notepad and pen, handing superfluous items to Simon as she searched. He raised an eyebrow when she produced the string of garlic, and bit his lip to stifle a grin when she pulled out the crucifix. At last she found what she was looking for and allowed Simon to give back what he’d been holding.

Amusement and tenderness flickered in his expression when he said, “Being here really scares you, doesn’t it?”

“A little.” She was glad the green makeup hid the flush she felt creeping up her neck.

“I remember your telling me how much you hated haunted houses after what happened to you when you were little. Why did you volunteer?”

Skye couldn’t meet his eyes. “I was trying to get over my phobia.” How could she admit she’d been prompted by her insecurity regarding the new social worker? Especially since Simon was apparently dating Jackie.

Simon didn’t look convinced, but he let it drop. “What else do you want to know?”

“What are they doing to identify the victim?” Skye asked. She had told Quirk who the other two witches were supposed to be, but she hadn’t been able to tell whether he thought that information was important or not.

“I overheard them saying they found Hope Kennedy and she was fine, but no one has seen Mrs. Miles.”

Skye was thrilled that the teacher was okay, but felt her heart sink at the news that Nina was missing. There couldn’t be a good outcome, but she’d held on to the hope that a terminally ill stranger had wandered into the haunted house, donned the witch costume and makeup, and died of natural causes.

Simon went on, “I called Xavier, and he’s bringing over makeup remover and rubbing alcohol to loosen the spirit gum holding on the prosthetics.” Xavier Ryan was Simon’s assistant at the funeral home. “Once we reveal her face, we’ll ask Mr. Miles to take a look. Roy told Anthony to call and have him come over.”

“Poor man.” Skye shook her head and tried not to think about how awful it would be for him. “What reason did Anthony give Mr. Miles for asking him to come?”

“Roy told Anthony to say there was a problem at the haunted house and he should come right away, then hang up.” Simon rubbed his chin. “Not to give him a chance to ask for details.”

“You know his daughter is here somewhere. She’s one of the zombie cheerleaders. Quirk needs to take her aside now, before she hears something.”

“Anthony said something to that effect, but Roy didn’t want to alert anyone, so he refused.”

Skye’s mouth tightened. “I understand his reasoning, but Bree’s an eighteen-year-old girl.” Roy Quirk was really beginning to annoy her. “It’s not right for her to find out about her mother through the grapevine.” Wally would get an earful when he called.

“I’m sure once Mr. Miles makes the identification, Roy will have an officer bring the girl to her father.”

“Maybe I should go find her and sort of stand nearby until that happens.”

“That’s probably a good idea.” Simon ran a hand through his short auburn hair. “But Roy’s not going to be happy I’ve told you all this.”

“I’ll be subtle.” She gave Simon a conspiratorial grin. “Besides, Quirk isn’t the boss of you.”

Simon chuckled softly, but broke off when Xavier approached and handed him a small paper bag. Xavier nodded to Skye, then said to Simon, “Here’s the makeup remover and rubbing alcohol you wanted. Give me a call if you need anything else. I’ll be waiting in the hearse.”

When Skye had first met Xavier, his pale blue lashless eyes magnified behind old-fashioned horn-rimmed glasses had made him seem reptilian, but she had come to like and respect Simon’s soft-spoken assistant. He was a widower, and his daughter, Frannie, was a freshman in college.

Skye thought Xavier was probably lonely with her gone—or maybe not. Frannie had been one of Skye’s favorite students, but she was extremely intelligent and curious, not always the easiest qualities for a parent to deal with.

Simon touched Skye’s hand. “I’ve got to return to the victim. Once we make the identification, I’ll be transporting the body. Will you be okay?”

“I’ll be fine.” Skye squeezed his arm. “Thanks . . . for everything.”