Murder of a Royal Pain

CHAPTER 11

It’s a Jungle Out There

“Ms. D, where have you been?” Frannie Ryan flung herself at Skye. “I’ve been waiting hours and hours for you.”

Frannie was a little taller than average, and a lot curvier than was fashionable. During Frannie’s years at Scumble River High, Skye had tried to help the size-fourteen adolescent navigate the size-four high school world. When Frannie left for college a month ago, Skye had prayed that the girl’s hard-won confidence wouldn’t be lost.

“Frannie, you scared the heck out of me.” Skye extracted herself from the teenager’s hug.

“It’s just that I’m so glad to see you.” Frannie’s brown eyes were shiny with tears that she quickly blinked away; then she said, “And it’s freezing out here.”

“Yeah, two weeks ago it was in the seventies; then we had a hard freeze Tuesday night and the temperature hasn’t warmed up much since then.” Skye observed that Frannie wore only a T-shirt, jeans, and a fleece hoodie, none of which were warm enough to spend much time outdoors in during an Illinois October. “Wasn’t it cold in Chicago?”

“Not as bad.” Frannie twisted a glossy brown lock of hair around her finger. “You know the lake effect keeps it warmer there.”

“Right.” Skye noticed that Frannie had cut and flat-ironed her nearly waist-length waves. Her hair now hung in a straight curtain to the middle of her back. Skye decided to ignore the girl’s change in appearance and ask the more important question. “Are you home for a visit?” Not that that would explain why Frannie was camped out on Skye’s porch so late at night, but she had to start somewhere.

Her teeth chattering, Frannie stammered, “I-it’s a long story. Can we go inside?”

“Of course. Let me find my keys.” Skye reached into her backpack and started digging through her possessions before it dawned on her that her house keys were on the same ring as her car keys. “Shoot.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Kurt has them.”

“Who’s Kurt?” Frannie narrowed her eyes. “If you broke up with the chief, why didn’t you go back to Simon?”

“We are not having this discussion now. Or ever.” Skye knew that Frannie desperately wanted her and Simon to start seeing each other again. With Frannie’s father working for Simon, and her not having any siblings, she regarded Simon as the big brother she’d never had.

“But—”

“No.” Skye silenced the teen with her most quelling teacher look. “We need to figure out how to get inside. Then we can talk.”

“Don’t you keep a key hidden outside somewhere?”

Skye shook her head.

“Who has a spare?” Frannie took a cell phone from the pocket of her jeans and tried to hand it to Skye. “We can call someone.”

“No, I’m afraid we can’t.” Skye pushed the phone away. Her parents had left that afternoon for their trip to Las Vegas, and no one else had a key.

“Can you pick the lock?” Frannie was aware of some of Skye’s more unusual talents.

“Not these. I put in dead bolts to keep someone from doing that very thing.” Skye thought of an alternate solution: Frannie could drive Skye to the American Legion hall, where Skye could unlock the old Chevy with a hanger. “Do you have your dad’s truck?”

“No. Sorry. A guy from my dorm was going home for the weekend and dropped me off.”

“Darn.” Skye paced the length of the porch several times, then shook her head. “I can’t think of anyone to call to pick us up and give us a ride to my car. Uncle Charlie will already be in bed, Vince will still be out partying, and Owen would have a fit if I called Trixie this late. I guess we’ll have to break a window.” She led Frannie to the back of the house, took off her sweater coat, and draped it around the teen’s shoulders.

“This is sure a funny-looking trellis.” Frannie wrapped her hands around one of the wrought-iron rungs. They were covered with dead vines, but still appeared sturdy enough to support a person’s weight.

“It was designed to act as a fire escape in an emergency,” Skye explained. “During the summer, when the plants are all leafy and green, you can’t tell it’s a ladder.”

“That’s so cool.”

Skye looked up at the second-story balcony. The waning crescent moon glinted off the glass panes of the French doors. She removed the flashlight from her backpack and tucked it into her cleavage. It might not be able to provide any illumination, but it was the perfect tool for knocking a hole in a window.

Putting her foot on the first rung of the trellis-cum-ladder, Skye said to Frannie, “Go back around to the front door. I’ll let you in as soon as I get inside.”

Once she reached the top, Skye hoisted a leg onto the balcony and took the flashlight from her décolleté. She advanced to the door and put her arm back to swing the makeshift club at the pane, but a faint mewing sound stopped her short. Shoot. She didn’t want Bingo to get cut from flying shards.

Trying to scare him away, she tapped on the window, but he strolled nonchalantly to where the two doors met. He got on his back paws and stretched his front feet toward the knob. It was a lever-type handle that, if pressed either up or down, disengaged the lock.

Could she get Bingo to open the door? She grasped the handle to wiggle it, hoping the cat would bat it hard enough to unlock it, and nearly fell as the French door swung open. Had she forgotten to lock it? Another explanation was that Bingo had opened it sometime earlier. Either way, at least she didn’t have to break any glass, but it was time to put dead bolts on those doors.

Skye pulled a pair of jeans over her tights, then ran down the stairs, tugging a sweatshirt on over her leotard. As soon as Skye pulled open the front door, Frannie burst over the threshold and headed toward the kitchen.

Skye followed her and watched as she peered into the refrigerator, complaining, “There’s nothing in here to eat.”

“Sorry. I haven’t been to the grocery store in a while.” Skye held out a couple of cans. “Tomato or chicken soup?”

Frannie made a face. “Anything else?”

Skye tried the freezer. “Frozen peas, a mystery casserole, and ice cream.”

“We got a winner.” Frannie grinned. “I’ll take the ice cream.”

“I thought you were cold.”

“It’s never too cold for ice cream.”

Skye grabbed the container, pried off the lid, and scooped the contents into two bowls, marveling that the manufacturers actually thought a pint of ice cream held four servings. She added spoons and joined Frannie at the table.

“Phish Food. My favorite,” Frannie said as she dug into the Ben & Jerry’s. Through a mouthful of chocolate and marshmallow she asked, “So, who is this Kurt guy? Where were you all night? And why do you look like crap?”

Not taking offense—Skye was well aware she looked awful—she explained about the reporter, the haunted house, and her role as a witch. She omitted finding Annette dead. Wanting to change the subject, Skye asked, “Why didn’t you and Justin go to the prom or the Promfest last year?” She knew that the teens hadn’t been dating when Frannie was a junior, but they’d been a solid couple by her senior year.

“Money, mostly.” Frannie dug out a chocolate fish from the ice cream and crunched it between her teeth. “It costs a fortune to go to the prom—at a minimum you need a dress and shoes, and your hair done.”

Frannie had worked evenings and summers at the bowling alley’s grill since it had opened, and had saved every penny she made for college.

“I’m sure your father would have been happy to pay for that stuff,” Skye commented.

“Maybe, but you know Justin’s folks didn’t have the money for a tux, flowers, and a limo,” Frannie pointed out.

It was only recently that Justin had been able to find work as a bagger at the local supermarket, and his parents didn’t have any extra cash. Justin’s dad was on disability, and his mother was too depressed by her husband’s illness to cope with anything else.

“But Promfest is free, and a lot of kids who don’t go to the prom go to that. I hear it’s a lot of fun. Why didn’t you two go?” Skye persisted.

“No Prom Bucks.” Frannie finished her ice cream and put the dish in the sink. “What with his job, his work with the Vietnam vets, and taking care of the house, Dad didn’t have time to volunteer.” She came back to the table. “And can you see either of Justin’s folks doing anything to earn him PBs?”

“Hmm, that’s a flaw in Promfest that I hadn’t thought about. We need to do something about it.”

“Right.” Frannie blew out an exasperated puff of air. “Like those ex–prom queens who run Promfest care about kids like us. They’re happy we don’t attend. Leaves more prizes and goodies for their precious offspring. Those bi—uh . . . witches are vicious. You should see the stuff they pull trying to get their sons and daughters elected king and queen.”

“Like what?”

“They try to either bribe or blackmail us into voting for their kids, and if that doesn’t work they go after our parents. Jobs have been lost and loans turned down.”

“You’re kidding.” Skye was shocked.

“It would help if it was a secret ballot, instead of a show of hands.”

Skye was silent. She’d had no idea. But now that she did, she’d make sure the upcoming vote was confidential.

“You watch, this year is going to be a bloodbath.” Frannie shook her head. “Mrs. Paine will do anything to have Linnea crowned queen. And Mrs. Harrison feels the same way about getting Cheyenne the title.”

“But why?”

“Why do people want Prada purses and Corvettes?” Frannie rolled her eyes. “They want everyone to envy them. Their self-image is at stake.”

Hmm. Could that be the motive behind Annette’s murder? Heck, it would fit as a motive to murder Nina Miles, as well. They both had daughters in the running for prom queen. There was something wrong with that logic, but Skye was too tired to figure out what. It was getting late. Time to ask the hard question.

“So, much as I miss you and am happy to see you, why are you here?”

“Because my father’s going to kill me.”

“Do I want to know why?” One advantage to Frannie’s being out of high school was that Skye didn’t have to worry about doing the right thing as Frannie’s school psychologist. Instead, she could be the girl’s friend.

“Probably not, but since I need you to tell Dad for me, you have no choice.”

“What do you need me to tell him?” Warning bells were sounding in Skye’s head. “And why can’t you tell him yourself?”

“Because he won’t yell at you, and by the time he sees me, he’ll have calmed down.”

“Your father is about the calmest man I know.” Sometimes Skye wondered if Xavier had a pulse. If she hadn’t seen him out in the sunlight, she would have sworn he was a vampire.

“That’s the problem.” Frannie leaned forward. “He never gets mad, so when he does, it’s worse than if he did it all the time.”

Skye could understand that—she hated dealing with people who stuffed all their emotions down deep inside them, then blew like Mount Saint Helens once they finally let go—but she still wasn’t going be the one to tell Xavier Frannie’s bad news.

“Your dad loves you more than life itself,” Skye reassured Frannie. “It must be something pretty terrible if you think he’ll go nuts.”

She tried to imagine all the things an eighteen-year-old girl could say to her dad that would cause him to have a meltdown. Pregnancy? Eek! That would be bad in so many ways. What else? Had she wrecked the car? No, Frannie didn’t have a vehicle at school. That left only one possibility.

“Tell me you’re not quitting college,” Skye pleaded. “You’ve only been there a month.”

“But I hate it.” Frannie’s bottom lip quivered. “I don’t have any friends, and the classes are a lot harder than high school. I’ve never gotten lower than an A-minus in my life, but I got a D on my first biology test.”

“Give it time. Now that you realize it’s harder, you’ll study more and bring up that grade. And, once you find the right group, you’ll make friends. Remember, it took you a while in high school, too.” Skye scooted her chair closer to Frannie’s. “Hey, I just thought of something. My sorority, Alpha Sigma Alpha, has a chapter at Loyola. Maybe you could go through rush and—”

“Get real,” Frannie cut her off. “No sorority will invite me to pledge. Those peroxide monsters don’t want someone my size in their house. I’m guessing you looked different in college than you do now.”

“Yeah,” Skye joked, “I looked about a hundred years younger.” At Frannie’s disappointed expression she quickly added, “Okay. Yes, I was thinner, but ASA isn’t like that. We’re more concerned about personality and values and a good fit with the other sisters.”

Frannie grunted, then exhaled in a long whoosh of air. Her expression clearly stated that she thought Skye was hopelessly out of touch with reality.

“Really.” Skye tried to convince the girl. “And I could put in a good word for you.”

Frannie bit her lip. “It’s not only the grades and the friends. . . .”

“Then what?”

“I miss it here. I hate the city. I thought I’d love it, but I’m scared all the time. We’ve been told not to even walk to the library by ourselves. Besides, I miss my dad and Justin and you.”

“Oh. But your scholarship . . .” Skye wasn’t sure how to respond. She wasn’t all that fond of the city either, but she’d lived in one for more than a month before making that judgment. And if Frannie dropped out of Loyola, she’d be giving up a full ride. Could Xavier afford tuition somewhere else? “It’s just that opportunities are never lost; someone will take the ones you miss.”

Frannie shrugged.

Skye tried again. “I guess all I’m saying is, you might want to give it a little more time before you make such a big decision.”

Frannie shrugged again, then said, “Could you just call my dad?”