“But I did call the police.” Laurie added, “They should be here any minute.”
As if her words had conjured it up, the distant sound of a siren grew louder. Everyone waited in silence as a squad car pulled up next to them and Roy Quirk got out.
He frowned when he saw Skye. “I should have known you’d be here.”
“Hey, I’m the victim.” Skye was in no mood for any of his crap. “Someone nearly ran me over; then instead of seeing if I was okay, the driver fled the scene.”
“Whoa.” Quirk took a pad and pen from his breast pocket. “Start from the beginning.”
After Skye told him what she remembered, he asked the people standing around, “Did any of you get the make, model, or license plate of the car?”
They shook their heads.
“Anyone recognize the driver?”
More shakes of the head.
“Can anyone identify the guy who pushed Miss Denison out of the way?”
Everyone remained silent, except Kay Lynn who volunteered, “He had a great butt. I’m positive I’d recognize it if I saw it again.”
“Thank you.” The muscle beneath Quirk’s right eye twitched. “I’ll be sure to get in touch with you if we ever have a rear-end lineup.”
The crowd snickered.
“Since you didn’t see anything, you all can leave now.” Quirk made shooing motions with his hands. “And when I say now, I mean immediately.”
After the group dispersed and she was alone with Quirk, Skye asked, “So what are you going to do? I could have been killed.”
“Not much we can do with no witnesses or evidence.” He shrugged. “It was probably some old lady who mistook the gas pedal for the brake.”
“You don’t think it might have something to do with the murder?” Skye couldn’t believe he wasn’t admitting those events could be connected. “Didn’t Wally tell you that a couple of weeks ago I received a threatening note and my tire was slashed?”
“Yeah. He told me.” Quirk’s face turned an ugly shade of red, and his eyes blazed. “I don’t appreciate your running to him every time you don’t get your way.”
“What are you talking about?” Skye sputtered. Why was Quirk getting so huffy and defensive? “I might be the intended victim.”
“There’s no evidence that the killer was after anyone but Annette Paine. I’m not going to let you sidetrack the few resources I have from that investigation and send everyone on a wild-goose chase.” Quirk got into the car. “I know you like being the center of attention, but it’s not going to happen while I’m in charge.”
“But—” Skye cut herself off, took a calming breath, then said, “I’ve been threatened, almost run over, and Annette was in a costume she wasn’t supposed to be wearing.”
“Your ‘threatening’ note was probably from some kid you’d ticked off, and lots of people knew Mrs. Paine was dressed as a witch. She threw a very public fit when Mrs. Miles didn’t show up, and she made it clear she would take her place.”
“Oh.” Skye hadn’t known that. “But why was she in my assigned spot?”
“You arrived late and have a reputation as a bit of a flake.” Quirk started to close the squad car’s door. “My best guess is that she was checking up on you.”
He flashed Skye a smirk that she wanted to rub off his face with an electric sander. The word butthead clamored to pass her lips, but she bit her tongue. Mouthing off wouldn’t do any good. And although Quirk was patronizing her, he was telling her details of the case he would otherwise refuse to share.
Before driving off, he said, “Whoever murdered Mrs. Paine probably followed her, and when he or she saw she was alone—since you weren’t where you were supposed to be—he killed her.”
Shit! Skye hobbled toward her Bel Air, her knees aching from her fall. Could Quirk be right? Had her tardiness given the murderer the opportunity he or she needed? Maybe Annette was the intended victim after all. Maybe the driver of the car that had nearly mowed her down really was a confused senior citizen.
Engrossed in thought, Skye opened the door of her Chevy and began to slide inside. Before she had settled into the seat, a deep-timbred voice asked, “Are you okay?”
Her scream was loud enough to make the statue of Saint Francis in front of the church come to life. Skye put a hand to her chest, trying to slow down her heartbeat so she could speak. “You can’t be here. Get out right now.” All she needed were new rumors floating around about her having an affair with Kurt Michaels.
“That’s a cold way of greeting the man who saved your life.” The reporter grinned back at her from the Bel Air’s passenger seat.
“You were the one who pushed me out of the way?”
“Yep.”
“Did you see who was driving or get the license number?” Skye asked. “Why didn’t you stick around?”
“No, no, and I didn’t stay because I didn’t want to have to deal with the cops.” Kurt relaxed against the seat back and rested his right ankle on his left knee. “There were enough people around to help you if you were hurt.”
“Why?”
“Why what?” His response seemed automatic.
“Why didn’t you want to deal with the police?”
“It’s no big deal.” Kurt examined the crease in his jeans. “Quirk and I just don’t see eye-to-eye.”
“About what?” Skye felt as if she were playing Twenty Questions and losing.
“Things going on in town.”
“Like the murder?”
“Like the murder.” Kurt’s warm hand closed over Skye’s. “I’ll bet he thought your almost getting run over just now was an accident.”
Skye nodded.
“What do you think?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I thought it might be related to Annette’s death, but then Quirk told me a couple of things that make me wonder.”
“Like what?”
“Like maybe it was someone who mistook the gas pedal for the brake.” Skye half turned to face the reporter. “You read about that in the paper all the time.”
“True.” Kurt ran his fingers through his thick blond hair. “But happening so soon after the murder . . . I don’t buy it as an accident. Maybe the murderer thinks you saw something and can identify him or her.”
“That’s an interesting theory.” An idea glimmered at the edge of Skye’s mind. “You know, Annette’s husband was at Mass today, and I heard that he was playing around on her. If he killed her, maybe he was the one who tried to run me down.” Skye frowned. “No, Linnea was with him. Surely he wouldn’t think a hit-and-run was an appropriate father-daughter activity.”
“No,” Kurt agreed, “but about ten minutes before you came out of the church, I saw Linnea get into a car with a group of friends.” Before Skye could respond, Kurt asked, “What else did Quirk say that made you think it was just an accident?”
“He said a lot of people knew Annette was dressed as a witch.”
“Oh.” Kurt thought for a half second, then said, “So what? A lot of people may have known, but all it takes is one who didn’t know.”
“That’s right,” Skye agreed. “I hadn’t thought of that. I’m sure people who were on time and already in their places didn’t know.”
“Right.” Kurt leaned back and put his tennis shoe–clad foot on the dashboard. “Quirk could still be barking up the wrong victim.”
“Great. Just when I thought I wouldn’t have to be scared anymore.” Skye shook her head. “After my little chat with Quirk, I know he’s not going to look into any other possibilities, which leaves Hope, Nina, and me dangling like worms on a hook. If the murderer wants any of us, all he has to do is snap us up.”
“If Quirk won’t investigate, we’ll have to.” Kurt turned to face Skye. “My boss says you’re the Scumble River Nancy Drew. Let’s use those talents.”
“I’m guessing the reason you’re so gung ho is that you’re hoping for an exclusive.”
“That’s one thing I’m hoping for.�
�� Dimples appeared in Kurt’s cheeks. “A chance to spend more time with you is an added bonus.”
Skye felt a surge of attraction, and frowned at him. “Let’s keep this on a professional level.”
“Why?”
The single word sent a shiver down her spine. “Because I’m already seeing someone, as you very well know.”
“It doesn’t look as if you’re engaged.” He reached across her and captured her left hand, pretending to examine it closely. “Are you?” He kissed her wounded palm before releasing her hand.
“No, but that’s not the point.”
“My philosophy is, until you walk down that aisle and say ‘I do’ in front of a preacher, things can change.” His voice had taken on a velvety timbre, like a country singer crooning a sexy ballad.
She drew her brows together. With Wally out of town and Quirk acting like a jerk, she needed an ally who knew how to get people to open up and spill their secrets. Trixie was good, but she didn’t have Kurt’s training or the opportunities that being a reporter afforded him. From what Skye had read in his column, Kurt was a whiz at persuading Scumble Riverites to tell all.
“Look.” Kurt cut into her thoughts. “Flirting is harmless, and if it could develop into something more, don’t you want to know that before you find yourself married to the wrong guy?”
Skye reluctantly nodded. “But it won’t develop into something more.”
“Probably not, but at least we’ll have some fun.”
Skye chewed her thumbnail. Lives could be in danger. Maybe her own. “Okay.” She could handle Kurt. He was like an overgrown puppy, cute but harmless. “Here are the ground rules. One, we can’t be seen together—there’s already gossip. Two, no touching. And three, nothing in the paper until we nail the killer.”
“Fine.” Kurt’s blue eyes twinkled.“Here are my rules. One, I don’t care about gossip. Two, you can touch me anytime you want. And three, anything I find out, I print.”
Skye’s face was set in hard, tight lines. “Either we compromise or we don’t work together.”
“Compromise isn’t generally in my vocabulary, but I can compromise on that.”
“You are so not funny.” Skye blew out an exasperated breath. “Here’s my counteroffer. I really don’t want to be gossiped about, so we’re careful about being seen together, okay?”
“I can live with that.”
“If I touch you, you can touch me back, but you can’t initiate contact.”
“Sounds good.”
“We talk over any info before you publish it, and if it would mean that the killer might get away or not be convicted, you don’t put it in the paper until I say so.”
“Deal.” Kurt held out his hand.
Skye shook.
“See? I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist touching me.” Kurt’s look was teasing. “Now I get to touch you.”
“No.” Skye backed away, but there wasn’t very far she could go without getting out of the car.
“Yes.” Kurt leaned forward.
Shoot. He was going to kiss her. Right here in front of the church. Truth be told, she was a little curious. She hadn’t kissed that many men. There had been her high school boyfriend, the guy she dated in college, the one she met in the peace corps, her ex-fiancé, Simon, and Wally.
Each one had been better than the guy before him. Could Kurt top Wally? She closed her eyes. She could feel his breath on her face and she resigned herself to the inevitable. But instead of masculine lips pressed against hers, Skye felt a gust of wind. She shivered and her eyelids flew open. Kurt was standing outside the car.
He smiled. “I’ll take a rain check on my touch.” He leaned down. “In the meantime, why don’t you look into Hope Kennedy’s enemies, and I’ll see what I can discover about Nina Miles. We both should try to find out what skeletons Annette had in her closet.”
“Okay.” Kurt started to walk away, and Skye called after him, “Wait a minute. I locked my car before going into Mass. How did you get inside?”
“You drive an old ragtop.” He reached in his pocket and showed her a folded length of metal clothes hanger. “Piece of cake.”
Shoot! Shoot! Shoot! Skye pounded the steering wheel as she drove home. Why did she get the feeling she had sold her soul to the devil with the blue jeans on?
The remainder of Skye’s Sunday was a waste. When she’d talked to Wally before church, she’d forgotten to tell him about the gossip and get his permission to tell her aunt about his real reason for leaving town, so she wasn’t able to take care of that chore. And neither Hope Kennedy nor Evie Harrison was answering either the door or the phone. The only task she had accomplished was grocery shopping.
Eight o’clock Monday morning, Skye sat at her desk in the high school and stared bleary eyed at Travis Idell’s file. The psychiatrist was still not returning Skye’s calls, and Mrs. Idell was growing more and more enraged by the school’s lack of action. She was now threatening to bring the matter to due process, which had thrown Homer into a tizzy.
He had threatened and cajoled Skye, but she had stood firm, agreeing only to review the file once more. Now, as she looked over the paperwork in Travis’s folder for the fifth time, she was again amazed that a professional had allowed an assessment of such poor quality to leave his office. She’d seen some badly written reports in her time, but this one was a doozy.
Her favorite line was, Travis appears to have a slight case of dyslexia, and because of this the principle has suspended him from school on several occasions.
However, no matter how amusing she found the report, the bottom line was that there was nothing in it to support the idea that Travis had a learning disability. She had already explained to Homer that if everyone else on the PPS team agreed Travis qualified for service, the team could put him in special education. At that point, she would write a dissenting opinion, but her statement would not interfere with the placement.
She knew Homer would have grabbed at this chance to pacify the Idells if she hadn’t also pointed out that if, later on as an adult, Travis felt being placed in special ed had harmed him, he could come back and sue the district and the individuals who had signed off.
Her warning had made the principal think twice about taking the easy way out, which was when he had ordered Skye to reconsider her position. She had, and now she needed to tell Homer she hadn’t changed her mind.
Skye glanced at the clock. School had been in session for only ten minutes, which meant Homer was probably still sipping his first cup of coffee and playing Free Cell on his computer. Maybe he’d be in a decent mood.
She reached reluctantly for the phone. The next-to-last thing in the world she wanted was to suffer through a due-process hearing, but the very last thing was to wrongly place a student in special education.
She was dialing Homer’s extension when the PA burst into life and Homer’s voice blared from the speakers: “Teachers, please follow evacuation plan A. Repeat. Evacuation plan A. This is not a drill.”
CHAPTER 16
Escape
“Chemical bombs.” Homer held his head and slumped in his chair. “Here in Scumble River High.”
“I’m so relieved that I read about those types of bombs in the newspaper a few weeks ago, and recognized them before someone got hurt,” Jackie said, a brave smile on her face. “Though I put myself at risk, I was happy to do it to protect our precious students.”
Jackie and Skye sat in the visitors’ chairs in front of the principal’s desk. It was eleven o’clock and they had been allowed back in the building only a few minutes ago. While waiting outside with the students for the school to be cleared, Skye had talked to a member of the county’s bomb squad and had learned that the bombs discovered in the cafeteria, gym, and lobby had been made using two-liter pop bottles. If the top had been unscrewed and the contents exposed to air, a chemical reaction would have taken place, forming a dangerous gas and a caustic liquid.
For once the school’s small size
worked in its favor. The county squad had thoroughly inspected the building in less than three hours, and was satisfied that there were no other bombs present. Nevertheless, the superintendent had decided to close the high school for the rest of the day. All the teachers and other staff members were busy making calls and supervising the dismissal, but Homer had ordered Skye and Jackie away from the phones and into his office.
“This is it,” Homer moaned. “It’s time for me to retire.”
“Sir.” Jackie leaned forward. “You can’t mean that. What would we do without you?”
Skye held back a giggle. Homer threatened—or promised, depending on your perspective—to retire at least three or four times a school year.
“Hell, I don’t know and I don’t care,” Homer snapped, instantly sitting up and throwing off his ‘poor, pitiful me’ routine.
Skye snickered. The social worker hadn’t learned yet that Homer was one of those rare individuals who didn’t respond well to positive reinforcement.
Jackie tried again, apparently not being a quick study. “What I meant, sir, was that the school needs you—now more than ever, in our time of crisis.”
“Yeah. Right,” Homer growled, and bounded to his feet. “What we really need is for you two to figure out who planted the bombs.”
Skye raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that a job for the police?” She had spoken briefly to Quirk, who was looking less and less like he enjoyed being in charge.
“With your boyfriend out of town, I doubt the Scumble River PD can find their asses using both of their hands and a butt-sniffing dog.”
“While I think the Scumble River police officers are very good”—Jackie leapt out of her chair and into the conversation—“they do have a lot on their plate with the murder and all, so if you think we can help, I, for one, am happy to be of service, sir.”
“You will both make this your number one priority.” Homer rewarded Jackie with his version of a smile, then glowered at Skye. “I want every student with any hint of discipline problems interviewed.”
“But—”
“Yes, sir,” Jackie cut Skye off. “I’ll clear my calendar for the rest of the week.”
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