Skating Under the Wire: A Mystery (Rebecca Robbins Mysteries) (2 page)

Which is why I must have misunderstood her request.

“You want me to
what
?” I asked as the crowd oohed over a taupe trivet set.

“I want you to track down and catch the thieves.” She smiled as though this were the most obvious request ever made. “Sheriff Jackson and his deputies have been trying to catch the thieves for ten years. They haven’t gotten close. They’ve never had a real lead. You’ve shown a knack for succeeding where the sheriff’s department has failed. I’d like to see you show them up again.”

Technically, I hadn’t shown up anyone. While the town gave me credit for solving the two murders and the car thefts that had occurred since I’d blown back into Indian Falls, I knew better. Dumb luck factored heavily into my so-called crime-fighting accomplishments. So did a desperate need for self-preservation.

“I’m flattered, but I think you might want to hire a real private investigator for something like this.” You know—someone who actually knew what he was doing.

Mrs. Johnson shook her head. “Your grandfather and I talked about that. We agreed—I need someone who knows the town and the people who live here. Besides, everyone already thinks of you as a private investigator. Why not make it official?”

I could come up with a very long list of reasons. The first would be Deputy Sean Holmes. Since I’d come back to town we’d had more than one run-in over my nosy nature. So far, he’d only threatened to arrest me for obstructing justice. I wasn’t looking to give him a reason to make good on the threat.

Strange enough, though, the less than rational part of my brain was tempted to say yes. Running the roller rink was fun, but my skating-teacher-turned-manager and staff knew their stuff. Minimal supervision was required. So, while I was glad I’d decided not to sell the rink and move back to Chicago, I was starting to feel like I needed something more. I’d been toying with joining the derby team, but as a redhead I bruise easily. I wasn’t looking forward to a life of Icy Hot patches and black-and-blue marks. Solving a ten-year-long breaking and entering ring sounded way less painful.

I looked at Danielle, who was still opening gifts. The mammoth stack she’d started with was down to five or six boxes. It would soon be time to serve the cake and the punch. “I don’t know if I have the time. Danielle’s wedding is in two weeks and…”

Mrs. Johnson gave me that look and my cheeks started to burn. It was the same look she used whenever I gave the wrong answer in class or tried to explain how the hamster ate my homework. The look stymied me. Kind of like it was doing now.

“Maybe I could talk to Deputy Holmes for you. He might be willing to…” I swallowed hard as Mrs. Johnson’s expression grew more disappointed. My stomach clenched as she continued to watch me—waiting for the right answer.

Crap.

“I guess I could ask some of the other victims some questions. Maybe something new will turn up.”

She beamed. “I knew I could count on you, Rebecca.”

For a moment I basked in her approval. Then I realized I had no idea where to start.

Mrs. Johnson solved that problem by pulling an envelope out of her purse. “Your grandfather suggested I put together a list of all the past victims. The Buergeys moved to Michigan three or four years ago, and Matt McBride had that unfortunate incident with his tractor trailer. The rest are still in the area. I know they’re as anxious as I am to find the culprits. A few of them even offered to help pay your fee.”

“Fee?” What fee?

Only once had I been paid for my snooping. Since the client in question was a teenaged boy and my employee, he was willing to work off my fee with extra hours at the rink. During those hours he’d managed to stop up the toilet, cause a small fire in the toaster oven, and drop a quart of popcorn oil on the rink floor. Not getting paid would have been cheaper.

Mrs. Johnson didn’t appear to notice my surprise. “Your grandfather quoted me your going rate. He also warned that you might have to charge more if the case gets too involved. The check is in the envelope with the list of names. If it isn’t enough, I can write you another.”

I could only imagine how much my grandfather thought my investigative services were worth. “I really don’t think—”

“Your grandfather said you’d be uncomfortable taking money from me since I was one of your favorite teachers, but I insist.” The steely glint in her eye said the subject was firmly closed.

Left with no real choice, I slid the envelope into my skirt pocket. “I don’t know if I’ll find the thieves, but I’ll do my best.” If I failed miserably, I’d comfort myself with the knowledge that Mrs. Johnson could insist only I take the check. She couldn’t make me cash it.

Feeling slightly better about the situation, I asked a few more questions and wrote down Mrs. Johnson’s e-mail address and phone number. After promising to give her regular updates, I skirted around chairs and tables to the front of the room, where Danielle was posing for a picture with a heart-shaped spatula.

There were only two gifts left on the table. I handed one to Danielle. My stomach growled in anticipation of the soon-to-be-served chocolate cake.

Danielle looked down at the box in her hands and frowned. “I don’t think I’m supposed to open this one. Not until Ethel and Ginny arrive.”

As though on cue, Ethel appeared in the doorway, looking a little unsteady on her feet. The walk to and from the television room must have worn her out.

“Is Ginny coming?” I asked.

Everyone turned to look at Ethel. She blinked twice at the attention. Then she shook her white, permed head. “No, dear. She’s not going to make it. I’m afraid poor Ginny is dead.”

Two

The party fizzled after that.
Someone called the sheriff’s department, which apparently was procedure when one of the visitors passed at the center, while someone else got Ethel a drink of water. Too bad this wasn’t the kind of party where the punch got spiked. Ethel looked like she could use something with a kick. I would, too, if I found a dead body.

Even without the booze, Ethel was able to give everyone a rundown on her search for Ginny. Turns out Ethel found Ginny in one of the TV-room armchairs. A football game was on the television. According to Ethel, Ginny liked football because all the men wore tight pants. Sadly, Ginny was no longer able to enjoy the view.

After her story, Ethel assured everyone that the party should continue. Ginny would want it that way. Only no one felt right eating chocolate cake and constructing wedding dresses out of toilet paper. Not with Ginny eternally sleeping just down the hall. The partygoers said their farewells and told Danielle they’d see her at the wedding. Then they loaded up their to-go plates and headed for the exit.

After ten minutes, the room was empty of everyone but Danielle, me, and the mountain of shower gifts. Danielle drove a black Ford Focus. I had a yellow Honda Civic. We both got decent gas mileage, but our cars weren’t big enough to get the haul to her fiancé’s place. We needed help.

Lots of it.

“What happened to the party?”

Danielle and I turned. Limping into the recreation room with a frown was my grandfather. He was covered in gold lamé, white spandex, and a lot of rhinestones. The fact that I wasn’t surprised to see Pop’s fashion choices spoke volumes about my life. In the past couple of months, Pop’s Elvis look had morphed from special occasion to personal style. More often than not, he wore his pants at least a size too small. Mobility took a backseat to pleasing his fans. Unfortunately, today his limp appeared to have little to do with fashion.

“Are you okay, Pop?” I hurried across the room and offered my grandfather my arm. He waved me away and stomped his right foot three times.

“I was waiting for my big entrance, and my foot fell asleep.” He looked around at the empty room with a sigh. “That’s the last time I take a gig that requires me to jump out of a cake.”

“You were in a cake?” I shouldn’t have been surprised, but still …

“Yeah.” He leaned down to rub his calf, sending prisms of light dancing around the room. “It was pretty comfortable for the first twenty minutes, but then my butt began to itch. Do you know the lengths you have to go through to scratch the middle of your ass when you’re stuck in the center layer of a cake?”

No, and I was pretty sure hearing about it would cause a lifetime of therapy bills. So I did what any person hoping to retain her sanity would do—I changed the subject. “What song were you going to sing when you leapt out of the cake?”

“‘Burning Love.’” Pop grinned at Danielle. “We thought it would set the right tone leading up to the wedding. Louise even rigged the cake so it would light on fire for the big finale. I can’t believe everyone left before we got a chance to bring the house down.”

Something told me that everyone leaving was probably the only reason the Indian Falls Fire Department wasn’t breaking out the hoses. Still, my heart went out to Pop, who was looking more than a little deflated at being left in the lurch by his fans.

“You can’t really blame them for leaving. Ethel came in and told us Ginny passed away,” I explained. “I don’t think anyone was in the mood for cake after that.”

Pop’s eyes grew sad. Then he sighed. “Ginny was a feisty one. Since she refused to go out with me, you probably didn’t know her. Every morning she’d walk five miles, rain or shine. She loved being outside, although she hated the cold. Once fall came, you’d find her walking on the treadmill, watching talk shows. Snow and icy rain are a pain at our age.”

The winter weather in Illinois was hell at any age.

My grandfather shrugged and gave me a small smile, but he didn’t have the usual sparkle in his eyes. Pop didn’t do sad often. When he did, it knocked me for a loop. Kind of like now.

Putting my arms around my grandfather, I kissed his leathery cheek, careful not to dislodge the black pompadour wig. “Ginny was lucky to have you for a friend. I bet she made all the women crazy, turning you down.”

Pop flashed a smile. “Yeah, I think she liked that part.” He returned my hug and sighed. “I should probably go see how Ethel and the other ladies are holding up. We all expect to go at some point, but seeing someone like Ginny go—well, it makes you realize that you gotta enjoy life while you can, because you just never know.” He walked toward the door, stomping his right foot every other step. “Let me know if you need any help getting those gifts home. My muscles could use a good workout.”

Once Pop and his rhinestones were out of sight, Danielle sank into a chair with a weary sigh. “God, I never knew being polite and opening gifts could be so much work. Give me pole dancing any day.”

I glanced around the room to make sure no one had overheard. Danielle must have been really tired to mention her past profession in a public place. She had reinvented herself when she moved from Chicago to Indian Falls, and she lived in fear that someone would discover she used to be a stripper. Especially her fiancé.

“You looked like you were having a good time.”

She kicked off her strappy black heels and shrugged. “I preferred the shower you and the derby team threw for me last weekend.”

“You liked the EstroGenocide dishes?” The girls had custom-ordered black dishes stamped with a silver and pink version of the team’s logo. Skulls and crossbones were the epitome of class.

“The dishes are hideous.” She laughed. “The people who gave them to me are wonderful, though. Most of the women today were here either to impress Rich or to see if I did something unworthy of a pastor’s wife. They think their pastor is perfect, which means his wife has to be perfect, too.”

“You’re not having second thoughts, are you?”

“God, no.”

The horror in her voice made me smile. On paper, the ex-stripper and the mild-mannered pastor looked like a mismatch, but as far as I was concerned, they were a perfect fit.

“I just wish we could have eloped.” Danielle sighed. “Then I wouldn’t have to worry about having the perfect dress and serving the perfect food. I was hoping having the wedding the Friday after Thanksgiving would make more people decline, but so far everyone’s said yes. If I didn’t have you helping me through this, I’d go crazy.”

For a second, I wondered how Pop was holding up, but then I turned back to the problem at hand. “I guess we should think about moving these boxes to your place.”

“Not in these heels.” Danielle laughed. “Rich promised he’d move the gifts as long as he didn’t have to come to the shower. You’re off the hook.”

Okay, the maid of honor handbook probably said I was supposed to turn down the offer of freedom and stay, but I did really want to check on Pop. I assuaged my guilty conscience by instructing Danielle to text me if she needed help—something she’d been doing more and more frequently as the wedding approached. Then I grabbed my coat and purse and bolted for the door.

Following the sound of voices, I walked through the center’s blue-and-gray linoleum hallways, past rooms used for macaroni art and Jazzercise classes. During my mother’s childhood, the building was home to the Indian Falls High School. By the time I’d hit the age of pimples and teenage angst, a new school had been built at the edge of town, leaving this one abandoned. Since the building sat next to the retirement home, the town’s seniors commandeered it. Now it was a hub for bingo, backgammon, and gossip. If you wanted the skinny on anything Indian Falls, especially if you didn’t care whether the information was one hundred percent accurate, this was where you came.

I found Pop in the workout room. He was consoling a cluster of distraught ladies huddled near a stationary bicycle. From the way the women were jockeying for position, I was guessing that not all of their distress was over poor Ginny’s passing.

Pop spotted me, gave the tall brunette next to him a pat on the shoulder, and sauntered over. “Do you need a man to help lift heavy boxes? I’ve been logging a lot of hours on free weights.”

My grandfather flexed his bicep. Rhinestones sparkled. The women behind him sighed. I pretended not to notice.

“Pastor Rich is coming to help, so I thought I’d ask if you need a ride home.” I figured that sounded better than saying I wanted to see if he was an emotional wreck. I didn’t want to ruin the macho mojo he had going on.