Murder of a Royal Pain

She found herself smiling. Was she in a good mood because she was finally making some progress on the murder, or because she seemed to be over whatever bug had been causing her to feel sick the past few days? Or maybe her illness wasn’t a virus. Come to think of it, because of her dentist appointment, she hadn’t eaten her usual ration of cookies that afternoon.

Could she be allergic to Oreos? She shook her head, refusing to believe those delicious chocolate wafers with their luscious cream filling could be the culprit. It had been the flu, and that was that.

Grinning at her own silliness, she went to check her answering machine. The flashing light indicated four messages. The first was another one from her mother, which Skye erased. She felt a little guilty, but she knew Vince had talked to May that morning and assured her that Skye was fine, so there was no need for her to spend an hour—or more—reiterating the news.

The second was from Loretta again, short and to the point: “We need to talk about Vince. Call me.”

Shoot. Skye’s mood darkened. She should have known it wouldn’t be possible to stay out of that mess. She only hoped she wouldn’t lose Loretta’s friendship over it.

The third call was from Hope Kennedy, saying she’d run into Quirk at the gas station and he’d threatened her again. Skye tried to call the teacher back, but no one answered.

The final message was from Wally. “Hi. I’ve got some bad news. Dad fired the original nurse I lined up—said he wanted a male RN. I’ve found one, but he can’t start before Saturday, which means I can’t come home until then. My new flight arrives at four thirty, so I should be in Scumble River by six thirty or seven, depending on traffic. I’ll call you when I get in.” Skye thought he had hung up, but as she started to press DELETE, he said, “Why don’t you have your cell phone on? I keep leaving messages on your voice mail, but you never call me back.”

Crap. She wasn’t allowed to have her cell activated in the school building, and she kept forgetting to turn it on once she left. And she really needed to figure out how to access her voice mail.

As she quickly dialed Wally’s number, she wondered were she had put the instruction booklet that came with her cell. Of course, now Wally wasn’t answering his phone, so she left him a message about Quirk’s latest threat to Hope and hung up. Maybe tomorrow would be better.

Fridays were supposed to be good days, but Skye’s sure wasn’t going that way. When she walked into the high school, Homer dragged her into his office and began screaming at her about some stupid traffic cones. “Do you have any idea what a mess you caused this morning? Buses were stacked up like the Tupperware bowls in my wife’s cupboard. We had to close off the whole damn parking lot!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I wasn’t even here this morning. I stopped at the grade school to speak to a teacher.” Skye had assured Hope Kennedy that Wally would be back the next evening and would take care of the Quirk situation. “I didn’t get here until a few minutes ago.”

“Fern didn’t see you, and you didn’t sign the attendance log. I checked.”

“I forgot to sign it because I didn’t go into the office. After I talked to the teacher, I spent an hour setting things up for an evaluation this afternoon, then came over here,” Skye explained. “What happened?”

“You know darn well what happened.” Homer loomed over Skye, who was seated on a visitor’s chair in his office. “You put traffic cones funneling the buses away from the entrance and into the bus parking area in the back of the school, which is a fricking dead end.”

“I did not,” Skye protested, her heart pounding. No one messed with the buses and got away with it. “Why would I do that?”

“How should I know? But you were seen.” Homer crossed his arms and glared at her. “Mrs. Boswell, the old lady who lives across the street in the white house, was out walking her dog and saw you putting the cones out. She came to my office and told me all about it when she saw the traffic jam.”

“That’s impossible. I didn’t do it.” Skye ran her fingers through her hair. “What time was this?”

“Seven thirty-five. She remembers exactly because she waits until seven thirty to take Snowflake out. She said she knows all the teachers have to be here by that time, but the buses don’t start to arrive until seven forty.”

“But, but . . .” Skye trailed off.

“But nothing,” Homer roared. “In my thirty-five years of experience, nothing like this has ever happened before.”

Skye stopped herself from blurting out that in reality, Homer had had one year of experience thirty-five times, since he did the same thing over and over again.

Homer stared at Skye, and when she remained silent he demanded, “Why did you do it?”

“I keep telling you I didn’t.” Skye was getting frantic. “Did Mrs. Boswell identify me by name?”

“No,” Homer admitted. “But she said she saw a female of your general build, with curly reddish brown hair.”

“What do you mean, my ‘general build’?”