Skating Over the Line, Page 2

  I straightened a skewed painting of a flowering cactus and said, “Pop” above the din of feminine voices. “Isn’t Jimmy expecting us?”

  Pop flashed me a grateful dentured grin. “Sorry, ladies,” he said, removing the short lady’s hand from his arm. “My granddaughter and I have important business with Jimmy. Since she proved to be such a crackerjack detective when solving the murder, Jimmy wants her to take over the investigation of the theft of his car.”

  Rolling my eyes, I grabbed Pop’s arm and marched him toward the hallway to our left. Before we could reach it, Pop turned around and said, “Don’t forget to come to the show on Friday night. I’m going to be singing ‘Love Me Tender.’”

  I rolled my eyes again as a tittering of oohs and sighs followed us down the hall.

  “Why did you have to say that?” I asked, letting go of Pop’s arm.

  Pop shrugged. “I need a big audience on Friday. I have an important agent from the Quad Cities coming to see my act. If things go well, I might get some casino bookings. Those pay good money.”

  “I wasn’t referring to your commercial. Why did you tell them I’m taking over Jimmy’s investigation? Couldn’t you have told them we were going to play cards or something?”

  Pop looked shocked. “I couldn’t lie to them.” I gave him my best “You have to be kidding” look. Pop was a champion fibber. His lips spread into an unapologetic grin. “Okay, I could have lied to them, but I didn’t think of it. Sue me. Those three are big fans of my Elvis act and they can get a little aggressive. Twice now they’ve tried to tear off my clothing. I didn’t think you’d want to see that.”

  Okay, I couldn’t fault him for that. Still, the Senior Center was the hub of Indian Falls gossip. An hour from now, everyone in town would have heard that I was butting into police business. Including Deputy Sean. I’d be behind bars by dinnertime.

  Pop, however, didn’t seem concerned. “Besides, they would have gotten the information out of Jimmy the minute we left. Jimmy doesn’t have my willpower. He’s a sucker for a pretty face.”

  We pitched our Dairy Queen cups in an empty trash can and kept walking. Pop led me past the dining room and the workout facilities before leading me into a small room with a television and a couple of worn armchairs. Slumped deep in one of the chairs, sleeping through a CNN report, was Jimmy Bakersfield.

  The minute we walked through the door, his eyes sprang open and his head turned toward us. Jimmy smiled at me, and I couldn’t help smiling back. Everyone smiled at Jimmy. His eyes twinkled with laughter while surrounded by drooping, tanned skin weathered by age.

  He stretched and pulled his large body upright. The movement caused his gray-and-brown-streaked comb-over to flop up and down. That combined with his tube socks, Bermuda shorts, and ragged flannel shirt suddenly helped me understand why the AARP women of Indian Falls considered my grandfather the catch of the county.

  “Hi, Mr. Bakersfield.” I waved. “I’m sorry to hear about your car.”

  “Me, too. And call me Jimmy.” Jimmy’s comb-over bobbed up and down. “You could’ve knocked me over with a feather when I saw my car wasn’t where I’d left it. I’ve had that car for thirty-nine years, and someone up and stole it. How’s that for rotten luck?”

  I agreed it was very bad luck. “Pop and I saw Deputy Holmes in the rink parking lot. He seems determined to find your car as soon as possible.”

  “Bah!” Jimmy waved away my reassuring words. “Sean Holmes wouldn’t be able to find his own ass with a map and a flashlight.”

  Pop cleared his throat and gave Jimmy a fierce look. Then he glanced at me, sending a red flush climbing up Jimmy’s tanned face.

  Jimmy hung his head. “Sorry. I don’t normally use language like that in front of a young lady, but this thing with my car has me on edge.”

  I nodded sagely, trying not to laugh. Jimmy’s wizened old face looked so contrite, and for no reason. When it came to Sean Holmes, Jimmy and I were of like minds.

  “Don’t worry about it, Jimmy.” Pop patted his friend on the arm and sat in a faded pink armchair. “Why don’t you tell Rebecca here about your car. With her on the case, you’ll be back driving it around town again in no time.”

  Sighing, I perched on the chair next to Pop and listened as Jimmy gave me the same information he’d given Deputy Sean.

  “So, what do you think, Rebecca?” My grandfather’s eyes gleamed with pride. I could tell he was waiting for me to have a psychic moment and crack the case wide open. If only I hadn’t left my crystal ball in my other purse. “Do you have any other questions for Jimmy?” he asked.

  No. But a truthful answer would have made my grandfather pout, so I improvised. I stood up and walked around the room. Pop and Jimmy probably thought I was pacing in order to think. Truth was, my foot had fallen asleep.

  “Did you leave your key under the floor mat?” I asked. My grandfather did this all the time. He said it was a typical Indian Falls practice. I thought it was a passive-aggressive way of scoring a new car.

  Jimmy dug into his pocket and pulled out three keys attached to a beer-opener key chain. “Can’t do that with a car like mine. It’s a classic, you know. That’s why it costs so much for insurance.”

  Sure. That’s the reason.

  But at least now I had a useful, if not crime-stopping, question to ask. “Jimmy, have you called your insurance company yet? They’ll need to know about your car.”

  Jimmy nodded. “I called Dean right after Sean Holmes blew out of here. Dean Gross handles all my insurance. He has for years. Got me a lower rate last year based on my age and spotless driving record.” He ran a hand through his thinning hair, dislodging the hair-spray hold. “Dean’s normally a crackerjack insurance guy, but I think hearing that my car’s been stolen really unhinged him.”

  “Why? Did he say your insurance has lapsed or that theft isn’t part of your coverage?” I’d had that happen two years ago, when I was living in Chicago. It had taken me months to convince the insurance company that I had paid my premium. Going after Jimmy’s insurance guy was a task I could throw my energies into.

  My enthusiasm was deflated when Jimmy replied, “No. Nothing like that. I hate to admit it, but I told him I was a little fuzzy on whether I’d paid my last bill. The minute I said that, Dean got all quiet. It was like we’d gotten disconnected. I was about ready to hang up, when Dean said I’d called him last week and asked the same question.”

  Pop gave Jimmy an understanding pat. “That kind of thing can happen. I bought two tubes of denture glue last week because I forgot I’d bought the first one.”

  Jimmy’s eyes narrowed and his face flushed. “I know I didn’t call Dean. I said he must have gotten me mixed up with someone else, but he insisted I called. Said I asked all sorts of questions about my coverage. Even claimed I might not remember because of my age. Can you believe that? Telling me I’m losing my mind ain’t no way to keep my business. Once my car turns up, I’m going shopping for a new insurance agent.”

  I vaguely heard Pop voice outrage in defense of his friend. But while the two issued insults about the bias of insurance companies toward old people, my mind was stuck on Dean Gross’s mysterious conversation with Jimmy.

  Interrupting Pop’s particularly colorful description of Dean’s sexual prowess, I asked, “Did Mr. Gross say what day of the week you called?”

  “Tuesday.” Red-faced, Jimmy pulled up a drooping tube sock. “That’s how I know I didn’t make the call. My grandkids were here visiting on Tuesday. Spent the whole day in the barn with them. If you ask me, Dean is going a little funny in the head.”

  Pop slapped the arm of his chair. “Well, my granddaughter here will get to the bottom of everything. Won’t you, Rebecca?”

  I opened my mouth to say no. No matter how much I didn’t want to disappoint Pop, the truth was, I had no idea how to find Jimmy’s stolen car. The cops were on their own. Deputy Sean would be thrilled.

  But before I could get out the words, m
y pocket began to vibrate. I pulled out my cell phone and flipped it open to answer it.

  “Rebecca,” I heard the husky voice of my Realtor, Doreen, say, “you’ll never believe it, but I think I just sold your rink.”

  Three

  Light-headed, I raced back to the Toe Stop. Doreen was waiting for me at my office door. She followed me inside, her eyes gleaming behind a pair of rhinestone-bespeckled glasses.

  “I did it,” she crowed, waving a bunch of papers in the air. “I found someone who wants to buy this rink. He’s even willing to pay your asking price.”

  Goose bumps sprouted up and down my arms while my heart tightened inside my chest. I sat down hard on the old wooden chair behind the desk. Happiness does strange things to me, I thought as I grabbed the papers Doreen held out.

  Abba’s “Dancing Queen” serenaded me from the rink loudspeaker as my eyes skimmed the documents. Sure enough, someone had made an offer for the rink. A good offer. The one that I’d been cooling my heels in Indian Falls for. This deal would cut me loose from my responsibilities here and allow me to go back to the life I’d started to build in Chicago.

  “They know I want the place to remain a roller rink?” I asked. This condition had killed several other potential sales. As much as I wanted to sell, I owed it to my mother to be true to her dream. I couldn’t bring myself to live permanently in Indian Falls and run the rink, but I could make sure the place survived.

  Doreen preened. “They do.”

  I blew a strand of hair out of my face. “So, when do we close the deal?”

  “The end of the month. Of course, that’s if the rink passes a formal inspection and—” Doreen gave another tsk.

  “And what?”

  “And you find a manager. I told them you were going back to Chicago. Trouble is, they won’t be living in town. They want someone who already knows the business in place by the time they take over; otherwise, the deal is off.” She shifted her glasses to the tip of her long nose and peered over them at me. “You can find someone, right?”

  I gave Doreen an overconfident smile. “Sure thing.”

  If only finding a rink manager was as easy as lying.

  * * *

  Doreen left wielding a signed contract, and I headed to the rental counter to give the kid working there a break. I hoped work would help alleviate the sick, gnawing sensation in my stomach. If only the job hadn’t consisted of exchanging smelly shoes for pairs of almost equally smelly roller skates, my plan might have worked. After two hours, I allowed two teenage employees to take over the task and went back to my office to ponder my nonexistent enthusiasm for finally leaving town.

  Maybe it was the lack of living arrangements in the city that bothered me. Two months ago, my best friend and roommate, Jasmine, had packed up my things and sublet my room to her cousin to help me avoid bankruptcy. Getting the storage locker key in the mail had provoked a similar stomach reaction. That had to be it. Right?

  Or maybe it was the thought of leaving behind my sometime boyfriend, Lionel, the town’s incredibly sexy vet. He wanted me to pull the listing on the rink so we could try our hand at a real relationship. Only, I wasn’t sure I was ready for that kind of commitment.

  Determined to ignore the problem, I grabbed my phone and checked for messages. Pop’s voice boomed into my ear. “Rebecca, I know you haven’t had much time to run down leads, but Jimmy wants to know if you’ve found his car yet. Give me a call or come down to the center. Tonight is meat-loaf night.”

  I slapped my forehead.

  Somehow in the haze after Doreen’s phone call, I’d actually agreed to take Jimmy’s case. I was an idiot.

  Then again, asking questions around town would keep my mind occupied. In the process, I might even uncover someone willing to become the Toe Stop’s manager. Can I multitask or what? I thought.

  I tooled out of the office, gave a wave to the kids manning the rental counter, and headed out to the packed parking lot. Sweat ran down my back as I cranked my yellow Honda Civic to life. I had only one lead in Jimmy’s missing-car case. It was time to pay insurance agent and longtime Indian Falls resident Dean Gross a visit.

  Cars streamed into the rink’s parking lot as I steered mine onto the road. The sun was heading down, but the temperature hadn’t followed suit. Somehow, that didn’t deter the town’s enthusiasm for roller skating. I guess sweating in air conditioning beat doing it outside. A good thing for my balance sheet and for the potential new owners.

  Twenty minutes later, I pulled into the driveway of a rambling Victorian farmhouse painted a vivid lime green. A large turquoise sign with green lettering announced the presence of Gross Insurance. Thank God Dean Gross has a successful agency, I thought. The world wasn’t ready for his taste as an interior designer.

  I climbed out of the almost cooled-off inner sanctum of my car and climbed onto the blue-trimmed porch. Truth be told, I didn’t expect to learn anything from this visit—except perhaps that Jimmy was in the beginning stages of mental decline. Still, there was no harm in satisfying my curiosity about the phantom phone call.

  Pushing a sweaty stray curl behind my ear, I pressed the doorbell. The guy must have been standing behind the front door, because it immediately swung open and Dean Gross flashed a gap-tooth smile through the screen door.

  I grinned back at the slightly rotund man. “Hi, Mr. Gross.” Not my best opening, but I had to start somewhere. “I don’t know if you remember me. My name is Rebecca Robbins.”

  “Kay Robbins’s little girl? Why, I haven’t seen you since your mother’s funeral.” He opened the screen door and motioned for me to come in out of the heat. I was more than happy to oblige as he added, “Your mother was a real nice lady, Rebecca. The whole town lost someone special when she passed.”

  My throat tightened and the back of my eyes began to itch. My mother had died over a year ago. Aside from Pop, she’d been the only person I’d ever been able to count on to be there for me.

  “Thanks,” I said, before changing the subject. Crying in front of an insurance agent sounded like zero fun. “Hey, I hope you don’t mind my dropping by so late, but I had a couple of questions for you.”

  Dean smiled and took a seat in the lipstick red rocking chair, leaving me with the orange slipcovered sofa. “Did you want to talk about getting insurance for the rink?” Dean asked, rubbing his hands together with thinly veiled excitement.

  Oops. I’d forgotten the rink’s policy was through another agent. With a small smile, I replied, “No, but the rink might need a new policy soon. Actually, I came to talk to you about Jimmy Bakersfield.”

  Dean’s face clouded.

  “He’s very concerned about the phone call you got last week,” I quickly explained. “You see, Jimmy doesn’t remember making that call. He’s worried that he might have done other things he can’t remember now. I’m sure you understand how nervous that would make someone getting up in years.”

  The middle-aged insurance agent scratched his chin and agreed yes, that would make him nervous.

  “So would you tell me about that phone call?” I asked. “Jimmy would feel better if he understood exactly what he said and when he said it.”

  Shrugging, he told me the same story Jimmy had already repeated to me.

  “And you’re sure it was Jimmy’s voice on the other end of the phone?”

  Dean’s head started to bob downward. Then it stopped. He pursed his lips together and his forehead crinkled with thought, giving him a startling resemblance to a bulldog. “Funny, but I remember thinking that Jimmy sounded like he had a cold. His voice was lower, and he sniffled a lot. You don’t think that’s important, do you?”

  * * *

  The sky was dark when I hopped back in my car and steered it onto the road. My talk with Dean hadn’t yielded any breakthroughs aside from the fact that Jimmy’d had a cold last week. The cops would have to do the rest. My investigation was officially over. It was time to get busy finding a rink manager so I could get back
to my real life in Chicago.

  My car hummed as I drove down a dark country road. Stars winked back at me from the sky, and my throat tightened. I would miss looking at the stars. Chicago nights were a little too bright and more than a little polluted. But nightclubs, a variety of potential jobs, and my best friend, Jasmine, were there, too. All in all, it was a fair trade.

  Kaboom!

  I jumped in my seat and whacked my head on the roof of the car. My ears rang and the hair on my arms stood on end as the night vibrated around me. Jamming my foot down on the brake, I looked around for the source of the explosion. Far in the distance, red flames lit up the night.

  Spinning my car toward the fire, I hit the gas and headed toward the yellowish beacon. My heart raced as I zipped down the country roads, hoping no one was hurt. From this distance, I couldn’t tell what was on fire, only that the fire was spreading.

  Four turns and fifty miles an hour later, I could see the fire was in the middle of what looked like a field. I pulled to the side of the road and leaped out of the driver’s seat. Racing toward the fire, I flipped open my phone and started dialing.

  A chain-smoking female voice answered as I skidded to a stop twenty feet in front of the source of the fire.

  “Indian Falls Sheriff’s Department. How can I direct your call?”

  I squinted at the engulfed object and choked back a scream.

  “Are you there?”

  Pressing a hand against my chest, I choked out, “Jimmy Bakersfield’s car is on fire, and someone is still inside.”

  Four

  “Miss, help is on the way. Please get back in your car and wait for the police and the fire department to arrive.”

  There was no way I was going to wait around for the cavalry to arrive while someone was trapped in a bonfire. Flipping my phone shut, I tried to ignore the panic bubbling through my esophagus and forced my feet toward the flames.