Murder of a Royal Pain

Skye pulled a pair of jeans over her tights, then ran down the stairs, tugging a sweatshirt on over her leotard. As soon as Skye pulled open the front door, Frannie burst over the threshold and headed toward the kitchen.

Skye followed her and watched as she peered into the refrigerator, complaining, “There’s nothing in here to eat.”

“Sorry. I haven’t been to the grocery store in a while.” Skye held out a couple of cans. “Tomato or chicken soup?”

Frannie made a face. “Anything else?”

Skye tried the freezer. “Frozen peas, a mystery casserole, and ice cream.”

“We got a winner.” Frannie grinned. “I’ll take the ice cream.”

“I thought you were cold.”

“It’s never too cold for ice cream.”

Skye grabbed the container, pried off the lid, and scooped the contents into two bowls, marveling that the manufacturers actually thought a pint of ice cream held four servings. She added spoons and joined Frannie at the table.

“Phish Food. My favorite,” Frannie said as she dug into the Ben & Jerry’s. Through a mouthful of chocolate and marshmallow she asked, “So, who is this Kurt guy? Where were you all night? And why do you look like crap?”

Not taking offense—Skye was well aware she looked awful—she explained about the reporter, the haunted house, and her role as a witch. She omitted finding Annette dead. Wanting to change the subject, Skye asked, “Why didn’t you and Justin go to the prom or the Promfest last year?” She knew that the teens hadn’t been dating when Frannie was a junior, but they’d been a solid couple by her senior year.

“Money, mostly.” Frannie dug out a chocolate fish from the ice cream and crunched it between her teeth. “It costs a fortune to go to the prom—at a minimum you need a dress and shoes, and your hair done.”

Frannie had worked evenings and summers at the bowling alley’s grill since it had opened, and had saved every penny she made for college.

“I’m sure your father would have been happy to pay for that stuff,” Skye commented.

“Maybe, but you know Justin’s folks didn’t have the money for a tux, flowers, and a limo,” Frannie pointed out.

It was only recently that Justin had been able to find work as a bagger at the local supermarket, and his parents didn’t have any extra cash. Justin’s dad was on disability, and his mother was too depressed by her husband’s illness to cope with anything else.

“But Promfest is free, and a lot of kids who don’t go to the prom go to that. I hear it’s a lot of fun. Why didn’t you two go?” Skye persisted.

“No Prom Bucks.” Frannie finished her ice cream and put the dish in the sink. “What with his job, his work with the Vietnam vets, and taking care of the house, Dad didn’t have time to volunteer.” She came back to the table. “And can you see either of Justin’s folks doing anything to earn him PBs?”

“Hmm, that’s a flaw in Promfest that I hadn’t thought about. We need to do something about it.”

“Right.” Frannie blew out an exasperated puff of air. “Like those ex–prom queens who run Promfest care about kids like us. They’re happy we don’t attend. Leaves more prizes and goodies for their precious offspring. Those bi—uh . . . witches are vicious. You should see the stuff they pull trying to get their sons and daughters elected king and queen.”

“Like what?”

“They try to either bribe or blackmail us into voting for their kids, and if that doesn’t work they go after our parents. Jobs have been lost and loans turned down.”

“You’re kidding.” Skye was shocked.

“It would help if it was a secret ballot, instead of a show of hands.”

Skye was silent. She’d had no idea. But now that she did, she’d make sure the upcoming vote was confidential.

“You watch, this year is going to be a bloodbath.” Frannie shook her head. “Mrs. Paine will do anything to have Linnea crowned queen. And Mrs. Harrison feels the same way about getting Cheyenne the title.”

“But why?”

“Why do people want Prada purses and Corvettes?” Frannie rolled her eyes. “They want everyone to envy them. Their self-image is at stake.”

Hmm. Could that be the motive behind Annette’s murder? Heck, it would fit as a motive to murder Nina Miles, as well. They both had daughters in the running for prom queen. There was something wrong with that logic, but Skye was too tired to figure out what. It was getting late. Time to ask the hard question.

“So, much as I miss you and am happy to see you, why are you here?”

“Because my father’s going to kill me.”

“Do I want to know why?” One advantage to Frannie’s being out of high school was that Skye didn’t have to worry about doing the right thing as Frannie’s school psychologist. Instead, she could be the girl’s friend.

“Probably not, but since I need you to tell Dad for me, you have no choice.”

“What do you need me to tell him?” Warning bells were sounding in Skye’s head. “And why can’t you tell him yourself?”

“Because he won’t yell at you, and by the time he sees me, he’ll have calmed down.”