Murder of a Royal Pain (25 page)

Tugging at the crotch of her pleather jeans, her skintight sweater riding up and exposing her chalk white muffin top, Glenda glared at Skye. “Whatta you want with my man?”

Skye kept a firm grip on Earl’s arm, but said soothingly, “I promise I’ll send him home as soon as he answers one question.”

Earl looked from his wife to Skye, and backed away. “Both of you leave me alone.”

Glenda narrowed her eyes and swung her gaze to Skye. “What’s in it for me?”

Skye thought fast. “A free haircut, color, and style at Vince’s salon.” She would owe her brother big-time for this.

Not quite as thick as her husband, Glenda bartered, “And a new outfit from Wal-Mart.”

Skye countered, “No more than twenty-five dollars.”

“Deal.” Glenda turned to Earl. “Okay, mister. You stay here.” Earl started to protest, but Glenda shook her finger at him. “Shut your yap, and answer her questions.”

Skye wrinkled her forehead, wondering if Earl had ventriloquist skills she knew nothing about.

After Glenda stomped away, Earl meekly followed Skye into the parking lot, where she deposited him in her Bel Air, away from prying ears, and demanded, “Who told you I needed your help?”

He immediately started to whine, “I don’t rightly remember, Miz Skye. I jist heard it around.”

“What exactly did you hear, Earl?”

“That the haunted house was truly haunted and the spooks were after you.”

“Why would someone say that?” Skye stared out the car’s window. “Nothing happened to me. Annette Paine was the one who was murdered.”

“They’re sayin’ it was a ghost that killed Missus Paine, and the spook’s coming after you next.”

“Who said that?”

“I’m not sure who I heard it from.” Earl screwed up his face. “I think one of the kids might’ve mentioned it.”

“One of the little kids or one of the older ones?”

“It might have been Elvira.”

Elvira was Earl’s sister, who lived with him and his family. She was a senior in high school, and Skye vowed to talk to her first thing on Monday. “Okay, at least now I sort of understand why you’re here, but how did you think you were going to catch this ghost?”

“I studied up all week and learnt how to get rid of spooks. I got me a degree in ghostology from Falconia University, and I’m starting a business. I figure there must be lots of bad spirits and evil around here. And once people hear how I saved you all, they’ll be lining up to hire the Ghostflushers.”

“How did you study? Are there books on ghost hunting?” She knew she shouldn’t ask, but couldn’t resist.

“I didn’t need no stinkin’ books. I got all I need to know from watching movies.” Earl grinned, revealing several missing teeth.

“What movies taught you how to get rid of ghosts?” Skye couldn’t believe someone was offering a course on the subject.

“Let’s see now.” Earl scratched his chin with the plunger. “
Ghostbusters
—that’s the one I got my company’s name from—and
The Ghost and Mr. Chicken
, and—”

Skye cut him off. “And you got a degree for watching these movies?”

“Yep. Right there on the Internet. Junior helped me print out the diploma. You want to see it?”

“No.” Skye shook her head. “I believe you.” She couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry; even the Dooziers were more computer-savvy than she was.

Earl handed her a stack of business cards. “You give these here cards to everyone and tell ’em that if they need their houses despookified, just call the Ghostflushers. Only twenty dollars a ghoul.”

“I don’t know if people will pay for something like that,” Skye cautioned.

“You jist tell all those folks in the haunted house that a bunch of real ghosts is fixin’ to plague Scumble River, and I’m the only one that can save them.” He fumbled in his pocket and brought out a crumpled piece of notebook paper. “These here are the first ones to be infested.”

“Earl.” Skye’s mouth pursed. “You aren’t planning on having your relatives sneak into people’s houses and pretend to be ghosts, are you?”

He shook his head, but refused to meet her gaze. “Just remind folks not to be penny-wise and dollar-dumb.”

“I’ll make sure to do that, but you keep in mind that breaking and entering is a felony.” Skye knew there was no reasoning with a Doozier in denial, but had to give it her best shot. “You’d better get home before Glenda comes back looking for you.”

“Yes, ma’am. I need to skedaddle.” Earl slid out of the car. “I’ll come back later to get rid of the spooks for you.”

As Skye walked Earl to his car, she noticed that the driver’s-side window had a spiderweb crack. She pointed to the broken glass. “What happened here?”

“I thought my window was rolled down, but I found out it was up when I put my head through it.”

“I see.” Skye was surprised the glass had been clean enough for Earl to make that mistake.

She waited until the Ghostflusher got into his Buick and drove away; then she headed back toward the old American Legion hall. As she stepped inside, she heard a police siren approaching. Evie must have gotten a signal on her cell phone. Skye blew out a long breath. There was a riddle for you: How many times did the police have to be called to the Promfest haunted house before they caught the one who put the lights out?

O
nce the police took Zinnia Idell away for unlawful possession of a firearm, the haunted-house rehearsal went smoothly, and A Ghoul’s Night Out opened for business. It was a rip-roaring success, with a continuous stream of customers from the moment they opened the doors until they shut them at ten thirty.

At ten thirty-five, Skye was already out of her costume, into her street clothes, and looking for Evie. She found the chairwoman counting the night’s receipts.

Positioning herself between Evie and the ticket booth’s only exit, Skye said, “We need to talk.”

“I told you I’d talk to you when I have time. Didn’t you get my note? Do I need to call Officer Quirk?”

Skye pulled over a chair and sat, continuing to block the doorway. “This won’t take long.” She had no intention of letting Evie leave until the blonde had answered her questions. “And after you hear what I have to say, I doubt you’ll want Quirk involved.”

“What are you talking about?” Evie had shed the gracious demeanor she generally showed the public.

Skye ignored the question, and asked one of her own. “When you and I bumped heads last Friday at the haunted house, why did you run away screaming?”

“Duh.” Evie looked at Skye as if she was an idiot. “I had just seen someone who looked exactly like you lying dead on the ground. I thought you were a ghost.”

“How did you know the woman was dead?”

“I put my compact mirror to her lips.” Evie shuddered. “She wasn’t breathing.”

That made sense—well, as much sense as anything was making in this case. Skye had nearly had a meltdown herself when she’d seen her own spitting image sprawled lifeless on the floor. “Why were you there to begin with?”

“Countess Dracula comes on right in the beginning, so my bit was over. I was using that passageway as a shortcut to get outside to my car.”

“Why were you going to your car?”

“It’s none of your business,” Evie snapped. “You’d better leave me alone, or I’ll have my husband talk the school board into firing you. I’m exhausted and I’d like to finish here and go to bed.”

“Your own or Dr. Paine’s?” Skye had decided a little shock treatment might make Evie more cooperative.

“What are you talking about?” Evie carefully rubber banded a bundle of bills, avoiding Skye’s stare.

“I saw you Thursday afternoon.” Skye raised an eyebrow. “It seemed like quite a thorough checkup.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Of course you do.” Skye noted that Evie was no longer threatening to call the police or have her fired. “You, Dylan Paine, and the dental chair of love. I took a picture with my cell.” Not that Skye had any idea if her phone even had a camera, but Evie didn’t know that.

Evie wilted. “Are you going to tell my husband?”

Skye’s voice was firm. “Not if you answer my questions.”

“What do you want to know?”

“How long have you been having an affair with Dr. Paine?”

Evie counted on her fingers. “About a month.”

“Why would you risk your marriage and everything you’ve worked for on Promfest to have an affair with a man who screws anyone in a skirt?”

“What do you mean? I was the first time he strayed.” Evie’s tone was earnest. “The chemistry is too much for us. Dylan and I both feel bad about cheating on our spouses, but we don’t seem able to stop.”

“I see.” Skye eyed the blonde thoughtfully. Was Evie really that naive? “There has to be another reason.”

“Well.” Evie gave a nervous little laugh. “He did promise to force Annette to give me the chairmanship of Promfest.”

Skye smiled to herself. Now she was getting somewhere. “How was he going to do that?”

“He never said,” Evie answered. “I thought maybe he would threaten to divorce her. Her position in the community was dependent on being married to a successful and wealthy man. She never worked or had a career of her own. Heck, she didn’t even finish her first semester at Joliet Junior College.”

“That’s interesting, because I heard that Annette was threatening to divorce him.” Skye tried to make sense of the conflicting information. “Of course, Dr. Paine could have been just feeding you a line to get into your pants.”

“That’s not how he is.”

“Then maybe his plan to get you the chairmanship required killing Annette. With her out of the way, you’d get the job; in fact, you did get the job when she died.” Skye leaned back in her chair. “It is surprising to see Dr. Paine here tonight. His wife’s only been dead a week. You’d think if he cared for her at all, he’d still be grieving.”

“Linnea insisted he remain active in the Promfest committee.” Evie made a face. “She’s sure that between the sympathy vote and Dylan’s presence, she’s got prom queen in the bag.” Evie stared straight into Skye’s eyes. “Which is why I would never have killed Annette. It would have given Linnea too much of an advantage over Cheyenne.”

Skye raised a shoulder in a half shrug, but silently agreed. She had explained that same fact to Kurt a couple of days ago regarding Nina Miles. “One last question. What did Annette have on you that made you give up the chairmanship?”

“Nothing.” Evie’s pupils dilated.

“Look, I promise, unless it has to do with Annette’s death, I won’t tell anyone your secret.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Evie crossed her arms and refused to meet Skye’s stare. “I don’t have any secrets.”

“Okay. Let me guess. Does it have something to do with your drinking problem?”

“How did you . . . I mean, I don’t have a drinking problem.”

“I’m truly sorry, Evie, but I know that you do.” Skye went into counselor mode. “Did Annette threaten to tell everyone?”

Evie shook her head.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, and once you admit it, you can get some help.” Skye kept her voice gentle.

“Going for help is what got me into trouble.” A tear slipped down Evie’s cheek.

“How?” Skye dug a packet of tissues out of her tote bag and handed one to Evie.

“Annette found out I had been in rehab. She said she’d tell everyone if I didn’t let her be the Promfest chair.”

“Would that have been so bad?” Skye asked. “All the celebrities go to rehab, and everyone says they’re wonderful and brave for admitting they have a problem.”

“Their husbands are not ministers. You Catholics think you can just say you’re sorry and be forgiven. Our religion isn’t like that. We believe alcoholism’s a sin, and that liquor is a tool of the devil. My husband told me to pray my way to sobriety, and that’s exactly what he thinks I did.”

“You mean, your husband doesn’t know you were in rehab?”

“No. I told him I was visiting my parents in Florida—they retired to Naples a few years ago.” Evie inserted the money into a pouch and zipped it shut. “But it was worth it. I haven’t had a drink in four months.”

“Okay. Say I believe you. Then how could you have been drunk and passed out the night Annette died?”

“After seeing you and thinking you were a ghost, I ran out to my car.” Evie shoved her chair back and got to her feet. “Dylan found me there and was comforting me. When the police showed up, Dylan hid on the floor of the backseat, then sneaked back into the hall through the window in the men’s room.”

“By
comforting,
I assume you mean boinking your brains out?” Skye stood, not wanting Evie to loom over her. “So you were only pretending to be drunk? You’d rather your husband think you fell off the wagon than that you were riding Dr. Paine’s chassis.”

“You know”—Evie pushed her way past Skye to the door—“someday you’ll go too far, and instead of investigating a murder, you’ll be the victim of one.”

 

Skye sped into her driveway, nearly rear-ending the black Land Rover parked in front of her house. Once she got the Bel Air under control, she hopped out of the car and dashed up the front steps. It was nearly midnight. What was Kurt doing here?

Kurt met her at the top of the stairs. His usual good humor was absent, and he stood blocking her access to the porch. “Why didn’t you tell me Annette Paine’s death was declared accidental?”

“What?” She pretended surprise.

“Don’t try that innocent act with me,” Kurt said sharply, biting off his words. “That’s what Simon was here yesterday to tell you, wasn’t it?”

“Go away. It’s late and I’m tired.” Skye shoved him back, walked past him, and unlocked the door. “We’ll discuss it tomorrow.”

He ignored her words and followed her inside. “You don’t believe it’s an accident, do you?”