Murder of a Royal Pain

“Yes. I was here during the cooking contest, and when I checked out all the contestants, I found out that the real Imogene Ingersoll was dead, too. Unfortunately, the fake Imogene disappeared before I could talk to her.” Frustration deepened Kurt’s voice. “Which made me think that there must be something about this town that was attracting Veronica’s killer.”

“But how did you get a job at the Star?” Skye asked.

“Pure luck. When I was here during the contest I grabbed a newspaper, saw the ad for a reporter, and since my undergrad degree is in journalism, I applied for the position.”

“I’m surprised you were hired so easily.”

“I did work as a reporter for several years after college, so I had references and a portfolio.” Red crept up his neck. “I may have flirted with the owner a little, too.”

Skye didn’t comment on his admission. Instead she asked, “What made you suspect Jackie?”

“I narrowed my search to anyone who was new in town since April, but it took me until a couple of days ago to nail down everyone’s background information.”

“And when you did, you didn’t think to warn me?” Skye’s stare bore into him.

“Well, I had no proof of anything, and at first it seemed as if the impostor was after Annette’s identity. But that didn’t make sense, since she hadn’t left town once Annette had been killed. Everything suggested you were her intended target, but I couldn’t be sure.”

“Right.” Skye stepped around him and opened the door. “What you really mean is that you didn’t want to tip your hand and let her get away.”

“I was watching to make sure nothing happened to you.” Kurt followed her and took her by the shoulders. “I thought I could protect you and solve my case.”

“But your case came first.”

He struggled to respond, then shrugged, bent his head, and kissed her.

The touch of his mouth on hers produced a delicious sensation, and for a long moment Skye responded. Finally she pushed him away. “No. I can’t do this. I can’t betray Wally.”

“That’s good to hear.”

They both turned toward the door, where Wally stood with his hands in his pockets.

Kurt looked from Skye to the chief. “I had to try.”

Wally dipped his head in silent acknowledgment.

After stroking Skye’s cheek with one finger, Kurt saluted Wally and walked away.

Skye hesitated for a heartbeat, then threw herself into Wally’s arms. “You’re not jealous?”

“Should I be?”

She shook her head. “Never.”

Crushing her to him, he whispered against her lips, “Will you marry me?”

Before Skye could respond, Wally pressed his mouth to hers, kissing her until she could no longer think. Which was a good thing, because she had no idea what her answer would be.

Here’s a sneak peek at

Skye Denison’s next exciting adventure

in the Scumble River Mystery series,

coming from Obsidian in April 2010.

November

Skye Denison twisted her left hand from side to side, admiring the glitter of the diamond engagement ring on her finger. The sunshine streaming through the windshield of her aqua 1957 Bel Air made the two-karat gemstone blaze like a Fourth of July sparkler. Reluctantly she slid the ring off her finger, tucked it into its blue Tiffany box, and zipped it into the inner pocket of her purse. The last thing she wanted was her mother getting the wrong idea.

Wally Boyd, Scumble River Police Chief and secret heir to a Texas oil fortune, had asked Skye to marry him a couple of months ago. Although she hadn’t said yes, he’d insisted that she hold on to the ring until she decided. It wasn’t that she didn’t love him; it was more that she didn’t trust her judgment where men were concerned. Her history included a series of bad choices, making her leery of commitment.

Skye knew she had to decide about marrying Wally soon, but not today. Today was all about Skye’s cousin Bailey Erickson. Skye was in the peace corps when Bailey left their hometown of Scumble River ten years ago to attend college in California, and she had later decided to stay there. Now Bailey was finally back, and Skye didn’t want to be late for her party.

After checking her lipstick in the rearview mirror, Skye picked up the strawberry pretzel salad she’d made and got out of the Chevy. The Denisons didn’t have get-togethers as often as her mother’s extended Italian clan, the Leofantis, so Skye looked forward to catching up with her dad’s side of the family.

As she put her hand on the knob of the kitchen’s screen door, the excited chatter echoing through the aluminum mesh brought her up short. For a nanosecond she wasn’t sure she was at the right house. The Denisons came from stoic Swedish farm stock. They never got worked up. Heck, they seldom raised their voices, and certainly they didn’t squeal like a gaggle of schoolgirls.

What in the world could cause her unflappable relatives to make sounds like a whooping crane on crack? There was only one way to find out.