Murder of a Royal Pain

Now that Skye knew that Jackie was both Veronica and Imogene, she could see the resemblance. The nose was the same, as was the size of the eyes, and the small mole on her right cheek. These features were hard to alter without plastic surgery.

But apart from those details, Jackie’s disguises had been amazing. She had changed her hair and eye color each time, as Imogene she’d worn glasses, and she’d even changed her build, going from a slim Veronica to an average Imogene and then to a curvy Jackie.

Skye shoved everything back in the box and forced herself to continue searching. So far all she could prove was that Jackie had pretended to be three different people.

The night table contained a three-ring binder with notes on Skye—her history, her habits, and her family. Ick! This was beyond creepy. There was nothing remarkable in the tiny closet, under the bed, or in the rest of the room. The only place left to investigate was the bathroom.

Skye flipped the light switch and stood in the doorway looking around. Her search would be easier if she knew what she was trying to find. The counter contained various toiletries, but nothing suspicious. Where would Jackie hide something incriminating?

She checked the toilet tank, behind the shower curtain, and in back of the door. She stood tapping her finger on the sink, letting her gaze wander from floor to ceiling. Ooh, wait a minute. What was that dark spot in the light fixture?

Dragging a chair from the bedroom into the bathroom, Skye positioned it under the light and climbed up. She carefully unscrewed the globe and shook a small bottle into her palm. Turning it, she read the label—it was prescription eyedrops, and Skye would bet the farm they contained atropine. She had the smoking gun—so to speak.

She was screwing the fixture back in place when she heard the outer door open. Scrambling off the chair, she tucked the eyedrops in her pants pocket and looked for a place to hide.

Before she found one, a familiar voice demanded, “What the hell are you doing in my room?”

It was a reasonable question. Skye tried to come up with an answer that wouldn’t get her killed, but her mind refused to cooperate, as did her mouth, which hung open, producing only incoherent sounds.

On another level Skye noticed that Jackie, or whatever her name was, looked pale and that her skin was stretched tight, making her face resemble a skull. It was as if she were morphing into yet another persona, and Skye automatically knew that this one was even less sane than Jackie’s previous self.

“I’m really sorry.” Skye stripped off the plastic gloves and concealed them in her palm, all the while struggling to come up with an excuse. “I know you said you didn’t want housekeeping services because you didn’t like strangers messing with your things, but Uncle Charlie asked me to drop off fresh towels because he had to lock up the office early today.” Skye gathered the soiled towels from the floor, shoving the discarded gloves into the pile, and took a step toward the door.

Jackie’s gaze flicked to the empty rack and back to Skye. “You must really think I’m stupid.” Her mouth flattened and her face turned red. “Or maybe you think that because you’ve always had it so easy you can get away with anything.”

“No.” Skye’s voice cracked. “Of course not. I . . . uh . . . forgot the fresh towels. You know what a scatterbrain I can be. I’ll go get them right now.” Jackie blocked Skye’s attempt to edge around her by producing a switchblade from her pocket.

Jackie flicked the knife open. “You’ve ruined everything.”

Skye leapt back until she was pressed against the bathroom wall, clutching the towels to her chest like a shield.

“Why couldn’t you just leave Scumble River?” Jackie waved the blade in the air. “You left once before.”

Skye forced herself to remain composed. Which personality disorder did Jackie’s behavior indicate? She narrowed it down to three—borderline, histrionic, or narcissistic. Jackie wasn’t charming enough to be sociopathic. Skye needed to make the correct diagnosis in order to know the best way to deal with her assailant. Stalling for time, she asked, “Why do you want me to go?”

Jackie snapped, “Because you stole my life.”

Okay, that was a clue. “What do you mean?” She needed to keep the other woman talking. Soon Wally would arrive, and, seeing her car in the parking lot, he’d know she had to be somewhere on the premises. Surely he’d figure out she was in Jackie’s cabin.

“We were born on the same day, at the same time, in the same hospital.”

“How do you know that?” Skye glanced at the counter to her left. Was there anything she could use as a weapon?

“A little over a year ago I went to the county courthouse in Laurel to request a certified copy of my birth certificate so I could get a passport. They gave me yours by mistake. Our surnames are similar.”

“What is your real last name?” There was nothing Skye could use to defend herself near the sink.