Free Murder of a Cranky Catnapper by Denise Swanson Page B

toddler who was chewing the end of her blond ponytail asked, “Did something happen to Palmer?”
    â€œMa’am.” Quirk heaved a sigh. “As I’ve said repeatedly, I have no information.”
    â€œWhy should we believe that? On television, cops lie all the time.” She wagged her index finger under Quirk’s nose. “What are you hiding, Roy?”
    â€œNothing!” Quirk bellowed, swatting away both the cane that the man was poking at his chest and the handwaving in his face. “Return to your homes. Once the situation has been fully assessed, the chief will make an announcement.”
    Skye stepped closer to the sergeant and in a low voice suggested, “Maybe you need to take some deep breaths.”
    â€œI’m okay,” Quirk muttered, then surprised Skye by winking as he said, “You know if folks would control their effing stupidity, I wouldn’t have to manage my anger.”
    Before Skye could respond, the elderly woman grabbed her hand and asked, “Are we in danger?”
    â€œThat is highly unlikely,” Skye assured the group, then had an inspiration. “But just in case, it probably would be best to lock yourself inside your house until the police have completely secured the area.”
    The blonde shrieked, clutched her child to her bosom, and ran. The other mom, dragging her toddler by the hand, was right behind her friend, but the older couple hesitated, glancing at their screen door.
    Skye’s gaze followed theirs and she asked, “Did you leave your place unlocked?”
    The couple nodded.
    â€œSergeant.” Skye gave Quirk’s arm a meaningful squeeze. “Perhaps you could walk through Mr. and Mrs. . . .”
    â€œCooperson,” the woman supplied.
    â€œMr. and Mrs. Cooperson’s house to make sure no one entered it while they’ve been distracted,” Skye finished, smiling at the couple.
    â€œThe chief told me to stay here.” Quirk’s lips formed a stubborn line.
    â€œI guess I could go with the Coopersons and check.” Skye raised a brow. “If you think Wally would be happier with that alternative.”
    â€œNo.” The sergeant frowned, clearly envisioning thechief’s reaction to his pregnant wife walking into an even remotely dangerous situation because Quirk refused to go.
    â€œLook.” Skye gestured to the deserted street. “I’ll stop anyone from entering the crime scene while you ensure the Coopersons’ safety.”
    â€œFine,” Quirk growled. “Get your cell out and ready to call for help. If there’s a problem, lock yourself in the car.”
    Once the sergeant disappeared into the Coopersons’ bungalow, Skye returned to the Caddy and sat sideways with her feet on the pavement. She’d wanted Quirk to help out the elderly couple so that they would see him as a man who had come to their rescue instead of one who had refused to answer their questions and barked orders at them.
    Roy needed to learn the value of positive public relations. He was an excellent cop, but his reputation wasn’t as good as his abilities warranted. People saw him as a brusque control freak, and in today’s world, that image of a police officer didn’t cut it anymore.
    Skye was toying with the idea of suggesting that she run a social skills group for Scumble River’s police officers when suddenly Dorothy screamed and clawed at the door handle, trying to get out of the car. Instinctively, Skye grabbed her and wrapped her arms around the woman. Her attempt to comfort Dorothy was futile. The woman continued to shriek and struggle to break free.
    Scanning the area, Skye didn’t see anything or anyone that should have frightened Dorothy. After several seconds, the woman blinked, then collapsed, breathing heavily and clutching Skye’s biceps.
    â€œWhat happened?” Skye asked, stroking Dorothy’s hair out of her eyes.
    â€œI