Murder of a Royal Pain

“You’re supposed to be so smart, and you can’t figure out how to use your own cell phone.” Disdain dripped from Elvira’s words.

Skye stopped herself from rolling her eyes and leaned back in her chair. “No one can be good at everything.” Teenagers had attitudes rivaled only by French waiters, and required similar treatment: Never let them see that they got under your skin. “So, can you figure it out?”

“I’ll take a look.” Elvira flipped open the phone and pressed the ON button.

While the girl studied the keypad, Skye said as casually as she could, “Hey, I saw your brother Friday night. Interesting business he’s starting.”

Elvira snorted, but didn’t shift her attention from the phone.

“He mentioned he decided to become a Ghostflusher when you told him how badly I’d been frightened during the first haunted-house dress rehearsal.”

Elvira’s fingers were flying over the tiny buttons, but she paused to smirk. “Yeah. She said you were practically peeing your pants.”

“Really? Who said that?” Skye watched the girl closely, but she still seemed engrossed in the electronic device. “I thought I was alone when I was that panicked.”

“The social worker. Last Monday I stopped by the Scoop office to talk to Xenia, and Ms. Jennings was telling all the kids there the story about how you kicked in the doors of the bathroom stalls and were afraid of a toy ax and screamed when you ran into a rubber hand in the hall.” Elvira passed Skye the phone. “Anyway, you press this little triangle on the left, scroll down to voice mail, and type in your PIN number.”

“Thanks.” Skye wondered what her PIN number was. “I figured you could help.”

“Yeah.” Elvira got up and sauntered toward the door. “And you figured if you gave me something to do, I’d tell you what you wanted to know.”

“Uh. I didn’t . . .” Skye’s cheeks flushed. “Well, I mean—”

“I can read you like a comic book.” Elvira shook her head. “Just ask next time. I really hate it when adults try to manipulate me.”

“Sorry,” Skye called as the girl walked out of the office, slamming the door behind her. Shoot. She’d have to make things up to her somehow, but right now she had to consider what Elvira had said.

Why would Jackie ridicule Skye to the students? What did she gain? Skye had had a bad feeling about Jackie from the beginning, but she’d written it off as jealousy. Except now that she thought about it, it seemed that all the trouble had started when the social worker was hired.

Since Jackie’s arrival, both Skye and the school had been having nothing but problems. The social worker had been the one to find the chemical bombs, insist on talking to the wannabe mommies at the junior high, and magically speak Russian—not that Vassily had responded to one word of it.

Jackie had also changed the office locks and failed to give Skye the new key, which resulted in her being late for an important meeting. Skye had a slashed tire, a rope strung at her height in her assigned spot at A Ghoul’s Night Out, almost been run over, and had poison added to her cookies.

Not to mention the tricks that had been played on her in the haunted-house bathroom. Come to think of it, Jackie had been acting the part of Lizzie Borden, so it was probably her ax that had been strategically staged in the handicapped stall.

Could Jackie be behind all of it? And if so, why? Skye needed proof. A good place to start was Jackie’s background. And in order to look into her history, all Skye had to do was persuade her godfather, Charlie, aka the school board president, to get her Jackie’s personnel file. Piece of cake. Or not.

CHAPTER 23

Worlds Collide

“Please, please, please, Uncle Charlie,” Skye pleaded into the phone.

“No. I can’t let you see Jackie’s personnel file.” Charlie’s voice was firm.

“It’s a matter of life and death.”

“Now, Skye, you don’t really think that nice lady is trying to kill you.”

“Yes, I do!” Skye yelled, her patience wearing thin. “I told you, Simon found evidence my cookies were poisoned.”

“But not that she poisoned them. You admitted that anyone could have gotten into your office.”

“Please, Uncle Charlie, you’re the only one who can help me.”

“Well . . .”

“You’d do it for Vince,” Skye whined.

“No . . .”

“What do you think Mom will say when I’m murdered, and she finds out you could have saved me?” Skye played her trump card—Charlie thought of May as the daughter he’d never had, and he would do anything for her.

“What exactly in the file do you want to see?”

Skye thought fast. Charlie was weakening. She wanted to see the whole thing, but if she couldn’t, what was the most important part? “Did anyone check her references?”

“No.”

“You’re kidding.” Skye knew that the Scumble River School District didn’t set high standards, but still . . . “How could the board not check her references?”