Murder of a Royal Pain

Trixie parked in the circular driveway, and she and Skye climbed up the steps leading to the impressive double doors. The house had an ultramodern design with lots of angles, and as Skye rang the bell she craned her neck at the window that jutted overhead.

When Bree answered the door, she asked, “Ms. Frayne, what are you doing here? Did I miss a cheerleading practice?”

As well as being the school librarian and cosponsor of the student newsletter, Trixie was also the cheerleading coach.

“No, Bree.” Trixie shook her head. “We need to talk to your mom about something.”

The girl looked apprehensive. “Am I in trouble?”

“Not at all,” Skye reassured the teenager. “Is your mom home?”

“Yes, she’s watching TV.”

“May we talk to her?” Trixie asked.

“Sure, come on in.”

Bree pointed them down a hallway and disappeared. As Skye and Trixie rounded the corner, Skye could see Nina sitting on a couch in the family room.

Nina tried to gather up the used tissues surrounding her when she spotted Skye and Trixie, saying, “Please excuse the mess; I can’t seem to shake this bug.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Skye waved away the woman’s apology. “We’re sorry to bother you when you’re not feeling well, but we have something important to discuss with you.”

“Of course, please have a seat.” Nina motioned to the overstuffed chairs facing the sofa.

Skye wasn’t sure how to start, but Trixie said, “We’re here about Annette Paine’s murder.”

“Murder?” Nina coughed. “I thought the police didn’t know how she died yet.”

“From what I saw, I’m pretty sure it was murder.” Skye said.

“What did you see?” Nina demanded.

“Sorry, I can’t say,” Skye answered. “But I’m not sure she was the intended victim.”

“Why?” Nina sneezed and blew her nose.

“Well, you know she had on your costume?”

“Yes.”

“So, whoever killed her could have thought he was killing you, or Hope, or me.”

“I hadn’t thought about that.” Nina frowned.

“Can you think of anyone who would want to kill you?” Skye asked. “Does someone gain a lot of money if you die, or does anyone hold you responsible for something that happened to them?”

“No.” Nina shook her head. “I’m a stay-at-home mom. No money of my own. And I can’t believe anyone would hate me that much.”

The three women were silent until Trixie asked, “Did you know Annette very well?”

“We hung around in the same circles, but we weren’t friends.” Nina grimaced. “Queen bees don’t have friends, just minions.”

Skye leaned forward. “Can you think of anyone who would want to kill Annette?”

“Anyone who ever had to be on a committee with her, or deal with her for any reason.” Nina shrugged. “She treated everyone equally badly.”

After a few more minutes of chitchat, Skye and Trixie excused themselves. It was nearly four o’clock, and Skye needed to retrieve her car and get home before Vince arrived.

Skye had just pulled into her driveway when Vince’s black Jeep threw up a plume of gravel and skidded to a stop next to her car. Vince was four years older than Skye, but his golden good looks and carefree attitude usually made him seem like the younger sibling. However, today every one of his thirty-eight years showed on his face. His butterscotch blond hair was matted as if it hadn’t been combed since the previous day, and his emerald green eyes were bloodshot.

Skye got out of the Bel Air and walked over to Vince as he exited his vehicle. She pulled him down to kiss his unshaved cheek—he was a good six inches taller than her five-foot-seven height. “That must have been quite a party last night,” she teased.

“No party.”

Skye’s stomach clenched. What in the world was wrong with Vince, the ultimate good-time guy? “Did your band have a gig?” By day Vince owned and operated Great Expectations hair salon; by night he was the drummer for a popular local rock group.

He shook his head. “We haven’t been taking as many bookings lately.”

“Why?” Skye tugged her brother up the front steps, through the door, and into her kitchen.

“The guys are all getting older. They want to spend more time with their wives and girlfriends.”

“Oh.” Skye was shocked. She’d gotten to know the members of Vince’s band pretty well a while back, when their lead singer had been murdered, and they had not struck her as stay-at-home family men. “Uh, so, you want something to drink?”

Like Skye, Vince was not much of a drinker, but today he rummaged under her sink and grabbed a bottle of tequila that had been left over from a party last fall. “Got any lime?”

Skye nodded. She liked lime with her Diet Coke, and still had a couple in the crisper drawer, although they were past their prime. As she sliced one, Vince got down a pair of shot glasses from the cupboard over the stove, blew the dust out of them, and sat at the table.

Skye joined him, putting the bowl of lime quarters in front of him. He poured the liquor into the glasses and pushed one over to Skye. Vince squeezed lime juice onto the side of his hand, added salt from the shaker on the table, and licked, then downed the entire contents of the shot glass in one gulp.