Murder of a Royal Pain

CHAPTER 4

Come What May

As Skye approached her aqua 1957 Bel Air convertible, she saw that the front passenger-side tire was flatter than a glass of day-old soda pop. Great! The perfect ending to a perfectly awful day.

When Skye threw her tote bag inside the car, she noticed a piece of paper under her wipers. Snatching it off the windshield, she read: Karma’s a bitch, just like you.

Shit! Was this from Mrs. Idell? Was she responsible for the flat tire? She had said something very similar at the end of their meeting. Just what Skye needed, a crazy parent with a grudge against her. She’d show the note to Wally, but there was probably nothing he could do about it.

She walked around to the back. Her spare was full-size, since her father would never permit her to ride around on a doughnut, and heavier than it looked. She had her head inside the trunk and was struggling to lift the tire out when she was startled by a sexy male voice near her ear.

“Need some help?”

Jerking upright, Skye dropped the wheel, conked her head on the trunk lid, and stumbled backward.

A warm masculine hand steadied her. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Skye yanked her arm free and spun around. Standing within kissing distance was the new reporter for the Scumble River Star, Kurt Michaels. She scowled, rubbing her head, and he backed away, holding his hands up.

“Where did you come from?” She gestured to the parking lot, which was empty except for her car. “I thought I was alone.”

“I live in the apartments on the next street over. I use the high school’s track to jog.”

It showed. He wore nylon running shorts that revealed his thigh and calf muscles, and a tank top that exhibited his well-developed shoulders and arms. Skye almost drooled, then remembered she had a hunky boyfriend of her own, and forced herself to look away.

Kurt pointed to her flat. “Would you like me to fix that for you?”

“Thank you, but I can do it myself,” Skye reluctantly admitted. “My dad wouldn’t let me get my license until I could change a tire.”

“But you’ll get your pretty shirt all dirty, not to mention ruin your manicure.”

“True.” Skye smiled to herself, thinking that not many men would be aware of stuff like that.

He seemed to read her mind. “I have five sisters. You learn to notice or you don’t survive. Besides, I’m a reporter, a trained observer.”

“I hate playing the helpless female, but this is a new blouse. . . . ”

“And I’m already dirty.”

“Right. But I don’t like being in anyone’s debt.”

“Well, I hate jogging alone; maybe you could run with me tomorrow afternoon.”

“Sorry.” A vision of looking pathetic as she tried to keep up with him popped into her mind, and she shook her head. “I have to exercise in the morning, before my brain figures out what I’m doing.”

“Very funny.” He moved her gently away from the trunk. “Then tell me something I can use in my column.”

As she pondered what little she could share, since most of her work at school was confidential, he lifted the spare onto the asphalt and fished out the jack.

She couldn’t tell him about Mrs. Idell’s threat, or Jackie having her locked out of her own office, or bingeing on Oreos, which pretty much covered her whole day. Hmm. She couldn’t think of a thing.

He had finished changing her tire when he commented, “This is a cool car.”

“Thanks. My father and godfather restored it for me.”

“Sounds like your family really takes care of you.”

Skye nodded.

He put the flat in the Bel Air’s trunk. “All done.”

“Thanks. But I still haven’t thought of any gossip for you.”

“That’s okay.” He shut the lid, turned toward her, and leaned back on his elbows, the muscles in his arms glistening with sweat. “My column for this week is already done, so how about we say you owe me a piece of news?”

Skye stuck out her hand. “Deal.”

Instead of shaking, he leaned forward, planted a soft kiss on her cheek, then walked away, saying over his shoulder, “I’ll look forward to collecting the rest of my payment.”

A fluttery feeling danced in the pit of her stomach, and Skye realized she was smiling. By no means blind to his attractiveness, she recognized that he aroused both her curiosity and her vanity.

Her expression thoughtful, Skye got into the car and headed toward her parents’ house. In the past six months she had decreased her twice-weekly visits to twice monthly. Due to her parents’ insistence that she should move into her old room and live with them until she got married—an event that couldn’t come soon enough, according to Skye’s mother, May. That was, as long as the groom wasn’t Wally. May had made her feelings about the police chief clear—he was too old, too divorced, and too not-Catholic.

Tonight Skye was lonely, and it had been close to three weeks since her last visit, so she steered the newly repaired Chevy out of town.

This time of year, the usually quiet countryside surrounding Scumble River was alive with combines in the fields and grain trucks lumbering along the blacktop, hauling golden hills of corn and soybeans to the silver silos that dotted the landscape.

Skye slowed as a tractor emerged from a dirt lane, then waved to the driver as she passed. She knew it was one of her parents’ westerly neighbors, but wasn’t sure which of the Pickett men was at the wheel. All four of the brothers were tall, thin, and prematurely wrinkled from the sun.

A few minutes later Skye slowed again to make the turn into her parents’ driveway. As her tires crunched over the white pea gravel, she spotted her father, Jed, on his riding mower, almost finished cutting the acre of grass surrounding the redbrick ranch-style house. When he noticed Skye he took off his blue-and-white polka-dotted cap and waved it in the air, revealing a steel-gray crew cut, faded brown eyes, and a leathery face.

Returning her father’s wave, she parked behind his old blue pickup and strolled over to the patio. A concrete goose wearing a black dress, a conical hat, and with a miniature broom fastened to its wing guarded the back door. Skye sighed in relief. The goose was a good barometer for her mother’s moods. With Halloween five weeks away, a witch’s costume meant all was well. . . .

Skye pushed open the screen door, entered the utility room, and paused to take off her shoes. May had replaced her old rust-colored carpeting with cream last month, and woe to anyone who left a footprint.

After tossing her tote bag on the dryer, Skye pushed open the swinging doors and strode into the large kitchen. Her stocking feet made no sound on the new beige-tiled floor. May had been on a redecorating tear during the summer. The far wall was now painted in grass green-and-white stripes, marble countertops adorned the peninsula, and a new glass and rattan table and chairs graced the dinette.

Skye’s mother stood at the sink, scrubbing potatoes with a vegetable brush. Despite her fifty-nine years and short stature, May’s athletic build reminded Skye of the cheerleader her mother once was. Today she wore denim capris and a pink long-sleeved Cubs T-shirt.

Without looking up from her task, she said, “Supper’s almost ready.” In May’s house no one was invited to eat; it was assumed that if you were around at mealtime you’d pull up a chair and dig in.

Skye noted the time on the square white wall clock—also a new addition. It was five thirty. “Isn’t it a little late for you guys to be eating dinner?” They usually ate at five on the dot.

“We had a lot to do today. Dad’s been in the fields since six. I walked my three miles with Aunt Kitty, Hester, and Maggie, then worked the seven-to-three shift at the station.” May was a dispatcher for the Scumble River police, fire, and emergency departments, which made her disapproval of Wally even more awkward, since as the police chief he was one of her bosses. “When I got home from the PD, I had to clean up the house and do the trim on the lawn.” May frowned. “Besides, you knew we were eating at six tonight.”

Huh? Why did her mom think she knew that? Skye opened her mouth, then decided it was better not to prolong this conversation. If she responded, her mom would want to know what tasks Skye had accomplished that day. Merely doing her job at school would not be counted as enough of an achievement.

Hastily changing the subject, Skye asked, “What are we having?”

“Roast beef, green bean casserole, Grandma Denison’s Parker House rolls, mashed potatoes, and Waldorf salad.”

Yum. She had picked a good night to stop by. The menu sounded more like Sunday dinner than Friday supper. “Grandma shouldn’t still be making rolls from scratch at eighty-five,” Skye said. “It’s too much for her. I thought she was going to stop.”

May dried her hands and gave Skye a pointed look. “Hard work is good for you.”

Skye was saved from responding when her father walked into the utility room. She turned to greet him. “Hi, Dad. Finished with the grass?” A silly question, since he wouldn’t have quit until he was through, but a good way to change the subject.

“Yep.” Jed hitched up his jeans, which hung low to accommodate his belly. “Supper ready, Ma?”

“In half an hour.” May stopped stirring the gravy, and ordered, “You’d better get showered and changed. We’ve got company tonight.”

Jed’s navy T-shirt was sweat-soaked and torn, evidence of his hard work. “Skye’s not company,” he protested.

Not wanting to get involved with her parents’ squabble, Skye looked for something to do. She moved the salt and pepper shakers and the napkin holder from the counter to the table, then opened the cupboard to the left of the sink. Although the plates, glasses, and flatware were where they’d been for as long as she could remember, they were all new, the old ones having been sold in the summer garage sale during May’s recent redecoration binge.

Skye had taken three dishes from the shelf and started to move toward the table when May said, “Aren’t you staying for supper?”

“Huh?”

“You only have three plates.” May held up four fingers. “There are four of us.”

“Four? I thought Vince had a date.”

“No. It’s just you, me, Dad, and Jackie.” May rolled her eyes. “Don’t you remember?”

“What?” Crap! Jackie was just the person Skye didn’t want to see. “How could I remember something I didn’t know?”

“But then, why are you here?”

“I stopped by to visit. You and Dad are leaving for Las Vegas in a couple of weeks, and I wanted to make sure I saw you before you left.”

“But I told Jackie to tell you about supper tonight.” May wrinkled her brow. “Didn’t you see her today?”

“Yes, but, uh . . .” Skye didn’t want to tell her mother about the argument she’d had with her colleague, so she hedged. “We had a lot to talk about; then she had to leave for another school. She must have forgotten to tell me.”

“Well, you’re here.” May nodded, appearing satisfied with Skye’s explanation. “No harm, no foul.”

“Right.” Skye frowned. Except she was now forced to spend an evening with someone she preferred to avoid. “So, how did you meet Jackie?”

“In the grocery store yesterday. She asked me to help her find something and we got to talking.” May turned back to the stove—gravy needed constant stirring or it became lumpy. “She was so sweet. She hung on my every word; then she mentioned that you and she were friends, so I thought it would be nice to have her for a home-cooked meal.”

Why had Jackie been in the grocery store? If she was living at the motor court, she didn’t have a kitchen. She must have been picking up some snacks and soda. The vending machines at Charlie’s would get expensive fast.

“She should be here soon.” May’s voice interrupted Skye’s thoughts. “Go ahead and set the table for four.” May lowered the flame on the burner, then added, “Make sure you put out the real butter for Dad. He won’t touch that Country Crock Light I use for my cholesterol.” May paused and gave Skye another sharp look. “But you’d better use the fake stuff. It looks like you’re gaining weight again.”

Was she? Skye looked down. She couldn’t tell. She refused to weigh herself constantly and worry about every pound, but she hadn’t been swimming every day as she should, and she had stuffed herself with those cookies a few hours ago at school. She guessed it was time to get back into the pool.

“You should have seen it. Mom did everything but spoonfeed Jackie, and Dad actually talked. She got him to tell stories from the four years he spent in the navy right after high school. He even made a joke. He said he had a commanding officer whose baler had run out of twine.”

It was late Saturday afternoon, and Skye was on the telephone with her brother. Vince had just closed up the hair salon he owned. “Well, isn’t that what a social worker is trained to do, get people to talk?” Vince asked. “And Mom feeds everyone.”

“Yes, she cooks and puts the food in front of you, but she doesn’t fork it into your mouth.”

“She did that?”

“Well . . . not exactly, but almost,” Skye admitted. “She put the cream and sugar in her coffee for her, though.”

“You sound jealous.” Vince chuckled. “Aren’t you happy to have someone to divert Mom’s attention from you for a while?”

“Yeah, but . . .” But what? Maybe she was overreacting. Time to change the subject. “So what are you and Loretta doing tonight?” Vince was dating Skye’s sorority sister, Loretta Steiner.

“Nothing.” His tone was unhappy. “She said she was going to District Days this weekend. You were an Alpha Sigma Alpha, too. Why aren’t you going?”

“It must have something to do with the alumni group Loretta belongs to in Naperville. There isn’t one close enough for me to join.”

“Oh.” Vince paused. “But you’ve heard of this weekend thing?”

“I probably read about it in the sorority magazine, but I don’t remember. Do you want me to check the back copies?”

“No.” He sighed. “I guess not, but it seems like she’s awfully busy lately.”

“Now who’s jealous?” Skye teased.

“Hey. You know I’m not the jealous type.” Vince’s voice held a forced casualness. “I’m only saying she should have asked you to go with her.”

“I’ll have to talk to her about that.” Skye was glad Vince couldn’t see her grin. It looked as if her big brother might finally be serious about a woman. Maybe May would hear wedding bells soon after all. Skye’s smile widened. And if Vince got married, maybe her mother would get off her back. “I’ve got to go. Wally’s picking me up at six. We’re going to Joliet to see The Forgotten at the Cinemark, then eating at Merichka’s.”

“I can taste their poor-boys now.” Vince smacked his lips. “I love how the garlic butter runs down your hands when you bite into one.”

“I love their double-baked potatoes. I think they’re the best I ever tasted.”

“Mmm.”

They both were silent a moment; then Skye said, “Well, I really do have to go. I haven’t even showered yet.”

“You could wait and invite Wally to join you.”

“Men. You all think alike.” Skye giggled and hung up the phone.

Her conversation with Vince had cheered Skye up, and she found herself singing while she got ready. She loved this time of year. Fall clothes were the best. The restaurant they were going to wasn’t dressy, so she put on brown jeans, a leopard-print blouse, and a gold suede jacket.

She was zipping up brown leather ankle boots when the doorbell rang. After taking one last look in the mirror, she added a pair of dangly citrine earrings and ran down the stairs.

When she opened the door, Wally stepped inside, swung her into his arms, and kissed her until she was breathless. As they moved farther into the foyer, Skye froze. “Did you hear that?”

“What?” He lifted his head from her neck.

“I thought I heard the back door. It has an annoying squeak I keep meaning to oil.”

“I didn’t hear anything. Isn’t it locked?”

“Yes.” Skye moved out of his arms and headed toward the kitchen. “I thought so, but I’d better check.”

“Wait a minute.” He caught up with her and put a hand on her shoulder to stop her. “Let me go first.” He reached down and pulled the gun from his ankle holster.

Skye frowned, then shrugged and stepped out of his way. His urge to protect her was a cop instinct, not a chauvinistic impulse.

When they got to the back door, it was closed. The thumb lock was engaged, but not the dead bolt. It was Wally’s turn to frown. He turned the key that was in the dead bolt and handed it to her. “You need to keep both of these locked and the key somewhere else.”

“I do. I mean, I keep them locked.” Skye chewed her lip. “I don’t go out this door very often—it’s easier to go out the front to get to the garage. I’m sure I locked it the last time I went out this way.”

“Well, it’s locked now.” Wally bent and petted the black cat rubbing against his shins. “Does Bingo have a secret life outdoors?”

“Right. I can just see him as the leader of a gang of cat burglars. What would they steal? Cans of Fancy Feast and pots of catnip?” Skye snickered. “Maybe it’s the ghost trying to keep us apart again.” She and Wally had just about given up trying to spend any time at Skye’s house—although Wally wouldn’t admit it had anything to do with the supernatural. His excuse was that his place was more comfortable.

But whether he believed Skye’s house was possessed or not, it seemed that whenever they started to get intimate, some weird occurrence would interrupt them. Secretly—Skye had never shared this thought with anyone—she suspected the ghost of the previous owner, from whom Skye had inherited the house, was behind the mischief.

Skye had met Alma Griggs a little over a year ago. A widow who had lost her only child in a car accident, Mrs. Griggs had convinced herself that Skye was the reincarnation of her daughter. And Skye was pretty sure that Mrs. Griggs didn’t want Wally around.

Whether the deceased owner was trying to keep all men away from Skye or only Wally was unclear, since Skye had broken up with her previous boyfriend, Simon, before taking ownership of Mrs. Griggs’s eerie home.

Wally broke into her thoughts. “You don’t really believe in ghosts, do you?”

“Maybe.” She shrugged, not sure what she thought. “Bizarre stuff does seem to happen to us a lot here.”

“Hey, I just thought of something. It was probably your mom. She likes to drop by and clean, right?”

“Yeah, but I don’t think she’s been here lately, at least not that I noticed.” Skye looked around the kitchen. “Although I guess she could have been here. She does tend to clean things that already look fine to me.”

“That’s it. I’ll bet it was May, and she opened the door to shake some rugs or something and didn’t reengage the dead bolt when she came back in.”

“You could be right.” Skye followed him back to the foyer. Unless it was Mrs. Griggs’s ghost, May was a reasonable guess. Besides, who else could it be?