Murder of a Royal Pain

Skye gave in. It was easier to go along with him than fight him. After all, she had agreed to work with Kurt on solving the murder. “Either Annette’s asthma attack was brought on deliberately, or the rope strung across the passageway was meant for someone else.”

“Like you?”

She nodded. Since Skye had heard from Simon about the location of the rope, it had seemed less likely that Quirk had tried to kill Hope. If he’d been after her, the rope would have been suspended in her assigned area, not Skye’s.

“So who wants you dead?” Kurt made wet rings on the tabletop with his bottle.

“There is a parent who might be crazy enough to want to kill me, and no I can’t tell you who. Or Quirk might have been right all along and Annette was the intended victim.”

“So Quirk is wrong in calling Annette’s death accidental.”

Skye’s jaw was set. “That’s my current theory.”

“I agree that her death wasn’t accidental, but I don’t think she was the one the murderer was after.” Kurt’s expression was dark and unfathomable. After a few seconds, he seemed to come to a conclusion and said, “Everything points to you—the rope being where it was, Annette looking like you, someone nearly running you over last Sunday.”

“Maybe the driver was Annette’s killer, and thinks I saw something incriminating the night of the murder.”

“More likely it’s that parent who’s mad at you, and by the way, I know it has to be Zinnia Idell.” Kurt stared at Skye, but she kept her expression blank. “Either that, or maybe it’s an ex, or an ex’s ex.”

“No.” Skye shook her head. “I dated Simon before Wally, my ex-fiancé lives in New Orleans, and Wally’s ex-wife moved to Alaska.”

“Are you blackmailing anyone? Do you owe money to anyone?”

“No to both.”

“Murder is usually about love, money, or power. Do you have power over someone? Or do you have something someone wants?”

“Not that I know of.”

“How about at school?” he asked.

“Not really. The principal or superintendant can overrule anything I do. Which is why the crazy-parent theory doesn’t make sense to me.”

“There’s something we’re missing.” There was concern in Kurt’s eyes as he fingered a loose tendril of hair on her cheek. “You need to be careful.”

Skye felt a twinge in the pit of her stomach. Was it fear or attraction? “I’ll be fine.” Her voice sounded breathy to her own ears.

Kurt cupped her chin tenderly in his warm hand. “How can you be sure?” His gaze caught and held hers.

The rational side of Skye was frantically yelling, You need to stop this right now, but the wild part of her personality was murmuring seductively, He’s so hot, one little kiss won’t hurt anyone.

“I don’t want anything to happen to you.” Kurt leaned closer; less than a whisper of space separated their lips.

Before Skye could decide whether to lean forward or backward, a voice from the kitchen doorway said, “Nothing is going to happen to Skye. She’s my number one priority.”

Skye jerked away from Kurt and scrambled to her feet. “Wally!”

He strode across the kitchen, tossed a bouquet of pale pink roses on the counter, and thunked a bottle of champagne down beside it, then put an arm around Skye’s shoulders. If looks could kill, Kurt would be vaporized, and Skye’s life would be hanging by a thread.

Kurt certainly did not seem intimidated by the older man. He casually got up and sauntered over to where Wally and Skye stood, stuck out his hand, and said, “Chief Boyd, I don’t know if you remember me. I’m Kurt Michaels from the paper.”

Wally ignored the reporter’s hand. “I remember you.” He stared into Kurt’s eyes. “I believe you were just leaving.”

Skye stepped away from Wally, her emotions teetering between guilt and anger. Wally certainly was entitled to be upset after catching her in a fairly compromising position. But, they weren’t engaged, and he had no right to order people out of her house.

Kurt turned his back on the chief and said to Skye, “Do you want me to go?”

“Please.” She took his arm and guided him toward the foyer. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Promise?”

“Yes.” As soon as he cleared the threshold, she closed the door. One down. One to go.

When Skye returned to the kitchen, Wally was sitting in the chair Kurt had vacated. The champagne had disappeared and the flowers were in the trash can. He twisted off the top of a bottle of beer, took a long swallow, and raised his eyebrows. “So?”

An unwelcome blush crept into Skye’s cheeks. “It wasn’t the way it looked.”

“It looked as if he was about to kiss you.”

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t have let that happen.” As with any good Catholic girl, guilt was winning, but she fought the emotion.

“You weren’t putting up much of a fight when I walked in.”

Attempting to deflect the focus from herself, she said, “Speaking of that, why didn’t you ring the doorbell? You never just walk in.”