Murder on Wheels

Praise for Lynn Cahoon and the Tourist Trap Mysteries

 

“Murder, dirty politics, pirate lore, and a hot police detective:
Guidebook to Murder
has it all! A cozy lover's dream come true.”
—Susan McBride, author of The Debutante Dropout Mysteries

 

“This was a good read and I love the author's style, which was warm
and friendly . . . I can't wait to read the next book in this wonderfully
appealing series.”—Dru's Book Musings

 

“The menace gradually intensifies; the mystery of who the visiting
author is also grips all the town's readers! Lynn Cahoon has created
an absorbing, good fun mystery in
Mission to Murder
.”

—
Fresh Fiction

 

“
Mission to Murder
is a quick, entertaining read with a plausible
mystery, and I recommend this series for people who like romantic,
cozy mysteries.”—
How Mysterious

 

“
If the Shoe Kills
was my first visit with Jill and her dog, Emma, to
South Cove. However, after . . . just one book I know it won't be my
last. I really enjoyed the variety of people that live in South Cove,
and the addition of the interns visiting certainly provided a lot of
color and intrigue!”—Cozy Mystery Book Reviews

 

“I am happy to admit that some of my expectations were met while
other aspects of the story exceeded my own imagination . . . This
mystery novel was light, fun, and kept me thoroughly engaged. I
only wish it was longer.”—
The Young Folks

 

“
If the Shoe Kills
is entertaining, and I would be happy to visit Jill
and the residents of South Cove again.”—
MysteryPlease.com

 

“In
If the Shoe Kills
, author Lynn Cahoon gave me exactly what I
wanted. She crafted a well-told small-town murder that kept me
guessing who the murderer was until the end. I will definitely have
to take a trip back to South Cove and maybe even visit tales of Jill
Gardner's past in the previous two Tourist Trap Mystery books. I do
love a holiday mystery! And with this book, so will you.”
—
ArtBooksCoffee.com,
4 stars

 

“I would recommend
If the Shoe Kills
if you are looking for a
well-written cozy mystery.”—
Mysteries, Etc.

 

Murder on Wheels

Killer Run

Dressed to Kill

If the Shoe Kills

Mission to Murder

Guidebook to Murder

Murder on Wheels

A Tourist Trap Mystery

Lynn Cahoon

LYRICAL UNDERGROUND
Kensington Publishing Corp.
www.kensingtonbooks.com

All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

Table of Contents

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Writing a book is like making a stew. You take pieces from here and there, maybe stored up from late-night dinners where no one finished the corn or the last few green beans from the garden. Then you mix it up, add some broth, and brown up some beef, and you hope the flavors mix together into something not only filling on a cold night, but also tasty.

My mom taught me to hold on to everything, including leftovers. For
Murder on Wheels
, I've mixed several of these tasty ideas that came from a mixture of sources. So, big thanks to my cowboy's best buddy, Dan Moore, for taking us geocaching for the first time. My sister, Roberta, always provides me with interesting tidbits from her cottage on the sea. And, of course, big thanks to the Food Network for their wide variety of shows to distract me, including
Truck Wars
. Or
The Great Truck Race
—it's called something like that. LOL

I'm always thankful for Esi Sogah's careful eye and kind direction in her edits and for loving South Cove as much as I do. Big thanks to Rebecca Cremonese for keeping me from freaking out when I find an error after turning in my last notes, and of course Michelle Forde, Alexandra Nicolajsen, and Lauren Jernigan for getting me and the Tourist Trap series out into the world.

Enjoy the stew.

F
un , just like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder. As I watched Greg and Justin stare at the handheld GPS hung around Justin's neck with a University of California lanyard, two things were perfectly clear. One, Greg King, South Cove's lead detective and my boyfriend, was not having the least bit of fun. And two, Justin Cross, history professor and Amy's boyfriend, was oblivious to everyone else's discomfort. Amy shot me a look as we leaned against an old wooden-post fence. “Do you think we might talk him into lunch at least?”

I glanced at my watch and shrugged. “Are we allowed to leave the hunt without finding anything?”

Justin had talked us into a new activity for our monthly double date. Geocaching. Basically, people go out into the woods, hide an object, and then post the GPS coordinates with a list of clues for others to find the item. Then, apparently, you post on the website that you “found” the spot (without leaving spoilers), take something from the cache, and leave something for the next explorer. It would be fun and all if the people hiding the stuff weren't crazy illusionists.

The hobby was like a big scavenger hunt. Except this game was self-study instead of time-based. Today when we'd shown up at the park outside Bakerstown, there was a group of geocachers milling around the parking area. Most people were the same age as us, thirty-somethings looking for a weekend distraction that didn't take place in a bar. We'd been directed to the registration desk and given our assignments.

Now we were in the middle of the Los Padres National Forest watching our boyfriends argue over our current GPS coordinates. Justin glanced back at us. “It should be here. What was the clue again?”

“Fake rock,” Amy called over to him. We were looking at an abandoned water pumping shed. The building had been made of stone, but now it looked more like it had been hit by a bomb. Or a meteor. She pointed up to the still-standing trees. Some of them were small, new growth. Others were old but charred on one side. “The forest fires ravaged through this area about ten years ago, and they let loggers come in to clean up the damaged trees. That's why there's so many dirt trails.”

“So, maybe this cache was destroyed in the fire,” I said, looking around for any kind of rock.

“The cache wasn't placed here until last year.” Greg took my hands and pulled me into a standing position. “Come on, you're not going to find anything by holding up that fence.”

I followed him, keeping my eyes on the ground for a plastic rock. After a few minutes, I was into the hunt. I stepped toward a tree and froze. A snake lay curled up next to the trunk. My stomach cramped, and I slowly moved away from the tree, pointing but not saying anything.

Amy came up next to me. “What is wrong with you?” She followed my gaze and laughed. “Jill found a snake.”

“It's probably harmless. I don't think there are rattlers in the area.” Justin crouched near Amy to examine my find.

I stood at the far end of the group as the three compared notes on what type of snake it could be. All I wanted to know was when we could get out of there. As they talked, I inched closer to the pump house. When I reached the back wall of the building, I saw a pipe coming out of the concrete. Under the water pipe was a rock. Could it be this easy?

I picked up the heavy rock and turned it over. The rock was concrete and had a film canister built into it. I tried to open the lid, but didn't have enough strength. I looked over at the group. Greg was poking the snake with a stick to get it to move along, out of the search area. “Umm, guys? I think I found it.”

Justin sprang to his feet and sprinted toward me. He peered down at the bottom of the rock. “You did it. You found the geocache. Good job, Jill.”

Yep, that's me. Jill Gardner, bookstore/coffee shop owner, and mad geocacher.
I handed the rock to Justin. “You open it. I can't get the lid off.”

He took the rock with a gentleness I hadn't seen anyone use before when handling stone. Well, fake stone. He pulled off the lid and dumped the contents into his hand: a scroll of paper, a short golf pencil, and a polished rock. Justin scribbled our names and the date on the paper. Then he handed me the pink tinged rock. “Take one, leave one. Do you have something we can leave for the next guy?”

I dug in my pocket. I had change from the candy bar I'd bought at the gas station when we stopped for snacks. My stomach growled at the memory. Digging deeper, I found a snail shell I'd found on the trail. I handed the miniature shell to Justin. “It's this or a quarter.”

He smiled. “This will do just fine. I didn't know you had a fondness for trinkets.” He put everything back into the canister, closed the lid, and looked at me. “So, where did you find it? We need to put it back exactly for the next person.”

I pointed to the shed and the pipe. “It was right there, on the cement.”

Greg put his arm around me. “I looked at that rock more than once, but when the clue said ‘fake rock,' I kicked it for weight and moved on. Good thing you thought to pick it up.”

I gazed into his blue eyes, pushing his hair away from his face. “So does this mean we can eat now? I'm starving.”

By the time we'd hiked back down the mountain to the parking lot, the geocaching club had set up a barbecue grill and was selling hot dogs and cold sodas as a fund-raiser. Greg shrugged. “Want a snack to hold you over until we get into town and find a real restaurant?”

“Are you kidding? Of course.” My mouth watered as we walked toward the smell of grilled dogs, mustard, and chopped onions. A dark-haired woman in a W
E HIDE THINGS FOR FUN
T-shirt motioned us over.

“Dog and drink for five bucks. Can't beat that.” She grinned, rubbing the back of her hand over her forehead. “Darn, it's hot today.”

I looked at Greg, who like me, wore a light jacket. It might be an unusually warm Saturday in February in sunny California, but it still felt chilly, especially standing here in the shade. “Spring will be here before you know it.” I kept the small talk aimed at the weather. “We'll take four dogs and sodas.”

“Jimmy will get your hot dogs wrapped up and you can pull your drinks out of the ice chest over there.” The woman held out a hand as Greg pulled out his wallet. “The Coastal Geocache Club thanks you for your support.”

“Do you do this a lot?” I'd never met anyone who even claimed to like this geocaching stuff. Now, in one day, I'd seen what a draw it could be for people. “I mean, I guess you do, since you're in the club and all.” Now I was just stumbling over my words.

“You're looking at the current president! I'm Kacey and I've been a member for five years.” The woman looked down at her slim body. “You're thinking how can she be so heavy and be part of a hiking group?”

I stared at the woman. She stood about five-five and might weigh 120 pounds. Her dark hair bounced around her shoulders, and her fair complexion brought out her emerald-green eyes. If I had to guess her occupation, I'd put her in the want-to-be-an-actress category. “Don't even think that, you're tiny. It's just that before today I'd never even heard of this activity, let alone any clubs around it.”

“Sorry, I'm a bit sensitive about my weight. I went through a bad breakup, and I think I ate most of Bakerstown's supply of chocolate during that time.” She smiled softly. “But I'm back at the gym and back with my husband, so things are good now. Anyway, geocaching. Most people haven't heard of it. We usually get several homeschooler families who use the hobby to teach geography principles. And they get a day out of the house.”

“I'm glad to hear that. Good luck with everything.” I hadn't even asked for a fifth of the information she'd so quickly provided. Apparently Kacey loved to talk. I took a step closer to Greg, who had walked away, talking to Amy and Justin and ignoring me. I almost sprinted to the cooler.

Greg handed me a cola and looked at Justin and Amy, “What's your poison?”

“Poison's right.” Justin smirked. “I'm not much of a soda guy. Just throw me a bottled water. The sodium in the hot dogs is going to be bad enough for my body.”

“Give it a break, honey.” Amy turned toward me as she took a lemon-lime soda. “Justin's on this healthy food kick. I haven't had a French fry in months.”

“Now, that's true love.” I grinned at my friend. “I think I'd ditch Greg if he started feeding me health food.”

Greg handed me a hot dog. “At least I know where I stand in your priority list now.” He nodded toward the condiments table. “You're not going to have onions, are you?”

I grinned. “I love onions.”

He shook his head. “I guess necking on the couch is off the agenda for this evening's activities.”

Amy shook her head. “TMI, guys.” She paused, then pointed to a man who walked toward the concession stand. “Isn't that Dustin Austin?”

I put mustard and ketchup on the dog and frowned toward the approaching figure. It
was
Austin with his Hawaiian shirt, Birkenstocks, and, in deference to the weather, long shorts. The guy's gray dreadlocks bounced as he walked toward us. I hadn't talked to the guy since he had broken my friend Sadie Michaels's heart and dumped her to return to his wife. I hadn't even known the guy was married. “I need to have a little talk with the jerk.”

Greg held my arm, which also kept me from throwing my hot dog at Austin as he walked by. When he reached the table, instead of buying his meal, he walked around the table and kissed Kacey on the lips. Apparently she was the mysterious wife, and, of course, she was younger than either Austin or my friend. Sadie had just turned forty; the women's group at the church had invited me for her black party. I wonder if Austin was the one putting the “fat” ideas into her head. I turned away and took a bite of the hot dog, hoping the food would keep me from making a scene.

“You guys already out of here? We have another round starting at one.” The man who had registered our group stood between us and the car.

“We've got reservations in town.” Justin shrugged. “What can I say, newbies.”

The man looked us over and nodded. “We'll just have to make you want to come back.” He held out his hand. “I'm Taylor Archer, vice president of the Coastal Geocache Club. Four years running now.”

“You must like the hobby a lot.” Amy leaned into Justin, taking his hand.

“I love it. You wouldn't believe the stuff I've found just lying around. I have a metal detector, too, but you have to have a permit for it in national forests or state parks. And they've been good about allowing us to hold these monthly get-togethers here, so we don't want to mess with that.” Taylor took a breath.

“Besides the fact that you wouldn't want to break any laws,” Greg added to Taylor's list of reasons.

He grinned. “Yeah, there's that. But mostly all the stuff we find here is just things people have left behind while they're camping or hiking. It's not like it's a Confederate battleground or a historical site.”

I knew from personal experience that historical objects were hiding everywhere, including an old shed that had been turned into an art studio. “You'd be surprised what can turn up where you don't expect it.”

“True that.” Taylor waved at another group. “I've got to go. Check us out on the web. Kacey over there's our webmistress, and she's crazy-good about keeping our page current.”

I looked in the direction he was pointing and confirmed that Austin's latest love was the computer guru Kacey. Now the guy's website skills made sense. Of all the businesses in South Cove, Austin's Bike Shop had been the first on the web and had the best site even now.

The four of us walked back to Justin's car and sat inside as we ate our food. Finally Amy spoke. “Wow, I guess you can't know what anyone is really thinking.”

“She doesn't seem Austin's type, that's for sure.” Greg took a sip of his cola.

“When I talked to her, she said she'd gained weight when he left her. I can't imagine how little she was before.” Kacey seemed to have a thing about her weight, even though I thought she looked amazing.

“There's no way she thinks she's heavy.” Greg rolled his eyes. “I don't understand women and their weight obsession.”

“She's totally different from Sadie.” I peeked around Greg, and watched the couple near the table. “I hate saying this, but she seemed nice. I kind of liked hating the woman for what she did to Sadie.”

“We all make our own choices.” Greg crumpled the hot dog paper wrappings and held out his hand for mine. “She's not the one you should be mad at. Dustin didn't tell Sadie he was still married. And he's the one who broke it off.”

As we drove back into town, I thought about my friend. Sadie had been alone for years after her husband died, and the first man she'd let into her heart since then had torn it apart. I was focusing on the ocean when a thought occurred to me. “Darn, I forgot to ask him what they planned to do with the food truck.”

“You think he would have told you?” Amy turned around to look at me.

I shrugged. “Probably not, but who knows? He's the one into New Age honesty and purity. Maybe I could have used his beliefs against him?”

“Tricked him into telling you the truth?” Greg laughed. “Honey, that hasn't worked since they stopped making those Scooby-Doo cartoons.”

I leaned up against him. “Well, Austin definitely would be playing the part of Shaggy.”

Justin and Amy dropped us at my house when we returned to South Cove. Greg walked me to the porch. “Well, that was fun.”