Murder of a Royal Pain

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?”

“You have no idea what hiring is like nowadays.” Charlie’s voice bristled. “Say we do call the people she’s listed as references; no one will say anything negative because they’re all too afraid of being sued. The only thing we can find out is if she was fired or if she quit. And look at you; you were fired for doing your job—not because you did anything wrong. So calling is just a big waste of time. Jackie had a graduate school diploma and a school social worker certificate from the state of Illinois. That was enough.”

“I can see your point, but I still want to try to talk to the people she listed as references.”

There was a long pause before Charlie caved. “Okay. Give me half an hour. I’ve got to go over and get the file from Wraige’s secretary. Any suggestion as to why I might want it?”

“You’re the board president; order her to hand it over.”

After hanging up, Skye straightened her desk, packed her tote bag, and told Opal she wasn’t feeling well, so she was taking half a sick day.

When Skye arrived at the Up A Lazy River Motor Court office, Charlie handed her the list. “Here. I hope you’re happy,” he complained. “I had to agree to take Karolyn to the lodge dinner in order to get this without an explanation.”

“Thank you, Uncle Charlie.” Skye smiled to herself. So Karolyn wanted to go out with Charlie. That was extremely interesting, considering it was common knowledge that she was already boffing her boss. Maybe Dr. Wraige and his secretary had had a tiff.

Charlie shook his head. “I’m leaving for a doctor’s appointment. Lock up when you’re finished.”

“No problem.” Skye waved Charlie out the door. “Remember, don’t draw to an inside straight.” She knew his appointment was really a poker game.

Skye checked the clock. It was past two. Not bothering to take off her coat, she quickly took a seat at Charlie’s desk and pulled the phone toward her. Taking into account the time difference between Illinois and the East Coast, she was worried about catching people before they left for the day.

As she dialed the first number, a school district in New York, she crossed her fingers, hoping the personnel manager would be available. Luck was with her, but the person Skye spoke to stated that no one named Jacqueline Jennings had ever taught for them.

The next person Skye tried was Jackie’s internship supervisor. That woman said that Jackie had been a promising young social worker. When Skye questioned the use of the word young—after all, Jackie had been eight years older than most interns, the woman claimed that Jacqueline Jennings was in her mid-twenties.

The last name on the list was that of a professor at the university from which Jackie’s graduate degree had been issued. He said that the Jacqueline Jennings he’d had as a student had been killed in a hit-and-run accident last December, a few months into her first year as a school social worker.

Stunned, Skye let the receiver drop into the cradle. The real Jacqueline Jennings had never worked for the school district listed on her résumé, was ten years younger than the one in Scumble River, and was actually deceased. Something was definitely not adding up. It was time to call the police.

Wally listened to all Skye had found out, then said, “Interesting, but there’s no hard evidence, so about all I can do is drop around school tomorrow and talk to her. I haven’t met her yet, so I can use that as an excuse.”

“But she’s pretending to be a dead person. Stealing their identity.”

“Maybe. Or maybe there’s some kind of mix-up. We need more evidence before the police can get involved.”

Skye bit back a scream of frustration. “I’ll bet the fingerprints on my cookie package are hers.”

“Unfortunately, if she isn’t in the system, we can’t compel her to let us fingerprint her.”

“But she had to be fingerprinted in order for the school to employ her.”

“Yes, but those prints are only compared to the criminal database. They aren’t actually entered into a database,” Wally explained.

Skye felt as if her head were going to explode. “How about if I get her prints on something and bring them in?”

“Even if they match, we can’t arrest her. Since you share an office with her, any halfway competent attorney would claim Jackie had merely helped herself to one of your cookies.”

“Crap!”

“Look,” Wally soothed. “I think you’re on the right track, but the question comes back to motive. Why is she doing this? If we could figure that out, it would help us build a case. Do you have any theory?”

“I have no idea.”

“Maybe when the school board looks into her background, something will give us a lead.” Wally paused. “If it turns out she really has stolen someone’s identity, we can charge her with that, and she might confess or let something slip during the interrogation.”

“ ‘Maybe.’ ‘Might.’ ” Skye’s voice had a sarcastic edge. “What am I supposed to do in the meantime? Wait for her to try to kill me again?”

“You’re right,” Wally agreed. “It’s probably not a good idea for you to be alone until we figure this out. I should have thought of that Friday night after we found out about Gloria. How about if you move in with me?”

She froze. This was not the way she wanted the next step in their relationship to come about. Besides, her mother would kill her before Jackie could. Years ago, Skye had lived with her fiancé in New Orleans and gotten away with it, but Scumble River was a small town, and both she and Wally were public figures.

Wally broke into her thoughts. “You don’t have to decide right now. We’ll talk about it tonight. Are you still at school?”

“No. I’m at Charlie’s.”

“Good. Stay there. I’ll finish what I’m working on, swing by the motor court, and follow you out to your house so you can drop off your car; then we’ll go to Laurel. We both need a nice dinner away from town.”

“Fine.” Skye fought to calm down. None of this was Wally’s fault. “How long will you be?”

“Fifteen, twenty minutes, max.”

“Okay. See you then.” Skye hung up, not satisfied with Wally’s wait-and-see attitude. She wasn’t letting Jackie get away with Annette’s and Gloria’s deaths. And she wasn’t prepared to allow her own life to continue to be destroyed either.

Wait a second. Could that be Jackie’s motive? It sure seemed as if she wanted to ruin Skye’s life, not kill her. What would doing that accomplish? Revenge was the only reason she could think of. But revenge for what? Skye had never met the woman before—at least, not that she knew of.

Okay, if not payback, then what? Well, if Skye were fired, Jackie would have the office all to herself. Hmm. Was she onto something? Could Jackie not only want Skye gone from school, but gone from Scumble River as well? Did she think she could scare her away? But again, why would Jackie want that?

Skye took a deep breath. Speculation wasn’t getting her anywhere. She needed facts. Maybe Wally couldn’t do anything to obtain information, but she could.

It was only three thirty. Jackie had said that she was meeting with a parent at quarter to four, which meant she couldn’t possibly leave school for another forty-five minutes. Certainly that was enough time for Skye to have a look around her cabin, especially since Jackie was staying right there at the Up A Lazy River Motor Court. Skye wished she had her Taser with her, but she needed to seize the opportunity.

Recalling that Charlie had mentioned that Jackie was in the cabin directly across from the office, Skye grabbed the master key from the desk drawer and stepped outside. The parking lot was empty and the motor court appeared deserted. Most people who checked in arrived late in the evening, leaving the interstate only to grab some sleep before getting back on the road.

Skye took a pair of rubber gloves from the first-aid kit in her car, then made her way across the asphalt. She knocked on Jackie’s door, waited, and knocked again. When no one answered, she used the master key and slipped inside. The drapes were drawn, so she flicked on the overhead light.

Once her eyes adjusted, Skye blinked, not sure that what she was looking at was real. Several moments later she still couldn’t comprehend what she was seeing, but as her brain began to process it, she gasped.

Covering the walls were hundreds of pictures, and every one of them had Jackie’s face Photoshopped onto Skye’s body. Jackie must have been following her around for months and months, maybe as long as a year, snapping photographs with a telephoto lens. There were images of Skye at the grocery store, at school, at her parents’, out with Wally, driving the Bel Air.

Feeling violated and defiled, Skye turned to leave. Why would anyone do this? A shiver ran up her spine. How sick did someone have to be to try to become another person? How mentally ill did someone have to be to try to erase the essence of themselves?

Her hand on the doorknob, Skye paused. She couldn’t run away. This might be her only chance to prove Jackie had set the trap that killed Annette and poisoned the cookies that killed Gloria. Skye had to stay cool and not freak out. Taking a calming breath, she moved over to the dresser and snapped on the latex gloves.

In the bottom drawer, concealed inside a tampon box, she found IDs of every description. There were driver’s licenses in a half dozen names, all from different states, credit cards, Social Security cards, and an Illinois State Police identification card in the name Veronica Vail.

Veronica Vail. Why did that name seem familiar? Wait, wasn’t that the special agent who had turned up to help with the spa murder? The one who had mysteriously disappeared, leaving a wig and a theatrical makeup kit behind?

Skye flipped through the rest of the IDs and found one for Imogene Ingersoll. Skye remembered her, too, a contestant in the cooking contest Skye had participated in last spring. She’d bribed her way into the finalist position and been asking questions about Skye and her family.

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.

“Dennison, same as yours, only with two Ns. And my first name is Stacy, close enough to Skye to confuse the stupid clerk.”

“Oh. What a weird coincidence.” Skye noticed that this line of questioning seemed to have a calming effect on Jackie, and she struggled to think of a way to continue it. “So we were both born in Laurel Hospital.”

“Yes. But you got to go home with a loving family, and I was stuck with a mother who didn’t want me,” Jackie rasped in an ugly tone. “And when I started to follow you around last Thanksgiving, it finally all made sense. The hospital had made the same mistake the courthouse did—only they had switched babies—and I knew I had found my real life.”

Holy crap! Jackie’s brief visit to the land of sanity was over. “Why do you think that?”

“Because I deserve your life and you don’t. You never wanted to live in Scumble River and be near your family. You wanted to live in a big city and marry some rich guy. You’re only here because he dumped you and you were fired. You had to come back, but I want to be here.”

“Sometimes we don’t get what we deserve, but that doesn’t mean we aren’t who we are,” Skye pointed out.

“Wow. You’re so perceptive.” Sarcasm dripped from Jackie’s words. “That must be why those idiots at the schools think you’re such a hotshot psychologist. I can’t believe they don’t see that even without a college degree, I’m a thousand times better than you.”

“But they do. I’ve heard Homer and Neva both say how wonderful you are,” Skye assured her, playing to Jackie’s grandiose sense of self-importance.

“Then why did Homer yell at me for not getting that Idell bitch to back down on her plan to sue the district?” Jackie’s voice held an unreasonable rage.

“That’s just his way,” Skye soothed, trying to both calm and stall the woman. “He’s like that with everyone.”

“But. I. Am. Not. Everyone.” Jackie seemed to lose the thread of what she was saying. Suddenly she lunged at Skye. “Why didn’t you leave town when you were supposed to? I heard about your haunted-house phobia and I got Justin to tell you about the real ghosts. I was sure running into that rope would be enough to make you go away, but that idiot Annette ruined everything.”

“Pretending to cry and then locking me in the bathroom was a brilliant touch.” Skye was not above kissing up if it would keep her alive.

“I didn’t pretend to cry. That must have been the real ghost, because I heard it, too, and there was no one else around.”

“But it was you who tried to run me over, right?”

“Yeah, Dylan hung his jacket on the rack near the door of the restaurant, and I borrowed the car keys from the pocket. The hardest part was slipping them back before he left. Good thing he and his friends stayed there so long—they must have drunk two whole pots of coffee.” Jackie appeared to refocus. “But since I couldn’t scare you into leaving town on your own, and you saw my little art gallery here, I’m going to have to get rid of you myself.”

“No, you don’t need to do that.” Skye scrambled to find the right thing to say. “We know Annette’s and Gloria’s deaths were accidents. You won’t be charged with their murders. You can disappear and assume another identity.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Jackie’s tone was remorseless. “But you’re the one who is going to disappear. And I’ll be here to take over for you at school, to comfort your friends and family, and to fill the emptiness in poor Chief Boyd’s broken heart.” Jackie waved the switchblade in Skye’s face. “In a few months no one will remember you. I’ll be Skye Denison. I’ve always been good at taking on a new identity. The woman who claimed to be my mother used to call me her little chameleon. That is, until the hair dryer accidently slipped from my hand and fell into her bathtub. That closed her yap.”

Skye’s blood was roaring in her ears, as loud as the noon coal train. “Okay.” She made one last-ditch effort, ignoring the fact that Jackie had confessed to killing her own mother. “I’ll be the one to leave. I’ll write a letter saying I’m sick of everyone, and bored with Scumble River, and that I’m never coming back.”

“Shut up!” Jackie backhanded Skye across the mouth. “Why do you persist in treating me as if I’m stupid? You must know by now that I’m way smarter than you.”

Skye felt her rapidly swelling lip, then stared at the blood staining her fingertips. She was too stunned to respond. She could see that the other woman was getting more and more mentally disorganized, her thoughts zipping from idea to idea like a Ping-Pong ball. She was starting to unravel at the edges. It showed in the way her mood changed so fast, and in her uncontrolled jittery movements.

Jackie nodded to herself. “And after I get through with you, I’m going to kill Simon. Everyone will think you two ran away together, and that will teach him to reject me.”

“He rejected you?” Skye blurted out, then bit her tongue. That had been stupid.

Jackie ignored Skye and continued to babble to herself. “I was so happy when I asked him out and he said yes. And it was perfect, because on one of my secret visits to your house, I overheard you talking on the phone, telling Vince that you and Wally were going to a movie in Joliet, then out to dinner at Merichka’s. So when Simon picked me up, I told him that’s where I wanted to go. We had such a wonderful time, but when he dropped me off after our date, he said he couldn’t see me anymore. He wasn’t ready to start dating someone new yet.” Jackie refocused on Skye and pointed the knife at her. “He wanted you, not me.”

Skye tensed, ready for Jackie’s attack, but instead she stepped out of the bathroom, saying, “Be right back. I need something from my purse.”

Before Skye could take a breath, Jackie returned. She dragged Skye away from the wall, put an arm around her throat, and pressed a gun to her temple. Pushing Skye in front of her, Jackie passed through the bedroom, opened the outside door, and walked over the threshold. Her car was parked in front of the cabin, and she thrust Skye toward the trunk. Skye knew she had only moments to save herself.

As Jackie fumbled in her pocket for the key, someone leapt out from behind a clump of bushes and yelled, “Freeze.”

Kurt Michaels stood in the classic shooter’s stance, aiming a huge silver gun at Jackie’s head. A nanosecond later Simon, unarmed, emerged from between the two cottages, and Wally burst out of the motor court’s office door with his weapon drawn.

The three men, clearly surprised by the others’ presence, all started shouting, but Skye only heard the click of a trigger being pulled back near her ear, followed by a gun discharging into the air.

The gunshot abruptly focused the men’s attention back on the women, and shut them up. In the stunned silence, Jackie said, “If you all don’t leave before I count to three, the next round will go into her head.”

Kurt took a step forward, and Jackie hit Skye across the face with the pistol, as she yelled, “One.”

He stopped as if he’d been tagged in a game of Statues.

Seizing the opportunity that Kurt’s distraction had provided, Simon tried to come at Jackie and Skye from the side, but Jackie spun around and hit Skye again, and screamed, “Two.” Simon halted.

Pain consumed all Skye’s thoughts, and she cringed when Wally said, “Okay. You win. You don’t have to hit her anymore. We’re all leaving. Right, guys?”

Kurt and Simon hesitated, and Wally ordered, “Move it. Both of you get into the squad car.”

They walked slowly toward the car and got into the backseat. Wally followed, slipped behind the wheel, started the engine, and drove away. Skye couldn’t believe he had left her. He hadn’t even tried to save her! He’d had his gun out. Why hadn’t he shot Jackie? His desertion hurt more than the pistol-whipping.

Once the men were gone, Jackie stuck her free hand into her pocket and pulled out the car key. But when she tried to fit it into the trunk’s lock, she dropped the key ring and it bounced under the car’s bumper. Forcing Skye to her knees, Jackie knelt beside her, reached under the car, and swept the ground with her hand.

Jackie wasn’t having any luck with her search, and Skye felt a ray of hope until Jackie’s hand emerged clutching the key ring. As they got to their feet, Skye made a decision: If she let Jackie get her into the car, she was as good as dead. She had to make a break for it.

Waiting until Jackie was distracted with opening the trunk, Skye wrenched out of her grip and whirled around, prepared to run for the office. But before she could take a single step, the world exploded, and Jackie crumpled onto Skye. Blood oozed out of the hole in Jackie’s chest, and Skye shoved her away. Jackie fell, sounding like a sack of something heavy and wet thumping down on the asphalt.

When Jackie’s body hit the ground, Wally dashed out from behind the adjacent cottage. Beads of sweat stood out on the skin above his top lip, and the expression on his face was a combination of anger, agitation, and terror.

As Wally handcuffed Jackie and called for an ambulance, Simon and Kurt ran out from where Wally had emerged. Then, as if on cue, all three men turned on Skye and started yelling at her for putting herself in danger.

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