Murder of a Royal Pain srm-11

by Denise Swanson

  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 t
ogether, 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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  EPILOGUE

  Your Wildest Dreams

  “I knew I’d find you here.” May stood in the open doorway of Skye’s office with her hands on her hips. “You promised you’d stay home today and rest.”

  “I said I’d think about it.” Skye wasn’t surprised to see her mother at the high school. Although she had spent two hours on the phone the night before reassuring May that despite the bruises on her face she was fine, Skye knew her mom wouldn’t be convinced until she saw for herself that her daughter was unharmed.

  “It’s a shame Wally isn’t a better shot.” May marched across the room to Skye’s desk.

  “What do you mean?” Skye glared up at her mother. “Wally’s a great shot. He saved my life.”

  “Maybe.” May’s expression was rigid and hard. “But if his aim were better, she’d be dead, instead of just wounded.”

  “I thought you liked her.”

  “I had her to dinner once.” A faint flush rose in May’s cheeks. “It’s not like I adopted her.”

  “Only because you couldn’t get a court date.”

  May ignored Skye’s snide comments and asked, “You said her real name was Stacy Dennison, with two Ns, right?”

  “Uh-huh.” Skye wasn’t surprised by the change of subject. It was a tactic her mother often employed when she didn’t want to admit she was wrong.

  “You know, now that I think about it, I must have met her mother when I was in the hospital giving birth to you. The woman’s name was Mary Dennison. Our rooms were next to each other, and the nurses kept getting us mixed up. She even got flowers that were sent to me.” May tapped her lips. “At the time I wondered if she was related to your father’s side of the family, but when I looked into it, she didn’t seem to be.”

  “Thank goodness.” The last thing Skye wanted was to find out she and Jackie were cousins.

  May nodded, then gestured at the cluttered room. “Why is this place such a mess?”

  “Jackie kept starting projects, but never finished them.” Skye decided it was easier to refer to the fake social worker by that name, rather than try to get everyone to use her real one. “And I’ve been too busy to clean up after her.”

  “I’ll help you straighten up.” May opened her purse and pulled out a dust cloth and a can of Pledge. “You’ll feel better once everything is spick-and-span.”

  “Knock yourself out, Mom.” Skye didn’t bother to point out that she was fine with the way things were. A busy May was a happy May, and a happy May didn’t ask as many probing questions.

  “The first thing we need to do is get someone to haul this stuff away.” May pointed to the knee-high piles of folders and the old file cabinets Jackie had placed next to the door, but never arranged to have removed.

  “I can do that.” Kurt sauntered in. “I’m Kurt Michaels.” He held his hand out to May. “I don’t think we’ve met, but I’ve heard a lot about you. I understand you’re the best cook in Stanley County.”

  “I’ve heard a lot about you, too.” May looked him up and down. “You’ve managed to charm a good portion of the female population here in town.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “That wasn’t a compliment.” May’s lips twisted. “A charming man is like a dog with his tail wagging—you’re never quite sure if he’s going to fetch your slippers or bite the hand that feeds him.”

  “On that note”—Kurt looked chagrined—“how about I get rid of those files you mentioned?”

  May nodded regally, and he began loading the folders on the wheeled chair behind Jackie’s desk—the one Jackie had managed to charm the custod
ian into finding for her.

  Skye told him where the incinerator was located, and added, “Go ahead and leave the chair in the boiler room, too.” She wanted it, and all things that reminded her of the pseudo social worker, out of her sight.

  Once he disappeared down the corridor, May made a clucking noise, and said, “He sure is a handsome devil, but I wonder about him. Everyone says he doesn’t talk much about himself.”

  Skye picked up her pen, intent on going back to work on the report she’d been writing. “That’s for sure.” She had some questions for Kurt as well. He had disappeared while Jackie was being loaded into the ambulance. It was as if he didn’t want to be around once Wally wasn’t distracted by more pressing matters.

  “I’m surprised you’re at school today.” Simon’s smooth tenor drew Skye’s gaze to the doorway. He greeted May, then said to Skye, “I stopped by your house thinking you’d take a sick day.”

  Skye quelled her impatience. “I wasn’t sick.” Why did everyone think she should have stayed home?

  “Any word on Jackie, or whatever her name really is?” Simon took a seat in a visitor’s chair.

  “Wally called before I left for work and said she was going to be okay.”

  “That’s good.” Simon straightened the crease in his pants. “At least Boyd won’t have her death on his conscience.”

  “Yes. Mom was just saying that.” Skye shot her mother a pointed look, but May had found a couple of flattened cardboard boxes and was busily assembling them.

  Before Skye could continue, Kurt returned, trailed by Trixie, who said, “Look who I found wandering the halls.”

  “Guess I can’t get away with anything around here.” Kurt flashed Skye a mischievous grin and leaned against the old file cabinets.

  “I bet you’ve gotten away with plenty,” Skye challenged him.

  Trixie, refusing to be sidetracked, demanded, “So, fill me in.” She dropped into Skye’s second visitor’s chair. “Everyone is buzzing about Jackie being a fake, but I have a feeling that’s only the half of it.”