Skating Over the Line (30 page)

*   *   *

Sure enough, Sean's cruiser, its red and blue lights blazing, was parked behind the building. And chaos was raging inside.

“You are not going to arrest Kevin. If you try, you're going to have to go through me.” Fire Chief Chuck was standing in front of an angry-looking surfer guy, whom I vaguely recognized as Kevin. Behind him, rookie Robbie was flexing his muscles and trying to look intimidating.

Sean had his back to us. For the second time tonight, he was brandishing his gun. “Look, let's take this down to the station, where we can talk quietly. I just want to ask Kevin a few questions.”

Chuck wasn't buying it. “It's quiet enough here. Ask your questions and Kevin will answer them.” Chuck added, “If I think you have cause to arrest Kevin, I'll take him down to the station myself.”

That did it. Sean heaved a big sigh and holstered his gun. “We'll do it your way, then.”

Chuck stepped aside with a nod. Robbie looked downright disappointed. Kevin ran his hand through his blond mop of hair and asked, “What do you want to know?”

Sean got out his little cop book. He noticed me out of the corner of his eye and smiled. Yep, Sean had wanted me to witness his triumph. “Where were you last Tuesday between seven and nine in the evening?”

Kevin swallowed hard and shot a look at Chuck. He had Guilty stamped across his face, which he was. This was the guy who'd been ditching a night at the in-laws. He was busted.

Sweating, Kevin admitted, “I was at Chuck's house, watching the Cubs game.”

Sean's eyebrows rose. He looked at Chuck with a scowl, as if daring him to alibi a guy who was so obviously guilty.

“My wife and son can vouch for him if you need other witnesses.” Chuck was all authority. “We got the call about the fire and drove here together.”

“Really?” A flush of anger traveled up Sean's neck. “Then why do I have proof that Kevin ordered Safety Zone fire retardant and had it delivered to his house two weeks ago? The same fire retardant used at the site of both car arsons.” Sean looked over at me and winked.

I was impressed. This time, Sean had actually done his homework before arresting a suspect. Too bad it was once again the wrong person.

The guilty look left Kevin's face. Now he looked baffled. “You think I bought that stuff so I could set fire to a couple of cars? You're crazy.”

“I'm crazy?” Sean's hand reached for his handcuffs. “You're the one who's crazy around here.”

“My son had to do a volcano project for summer school, and I wanted to keep my backyard from catching on fire.” Kevin's face turned as red as Sean's. “Two jugs of Safety Zone wouldn't have kept those fields from catching. Hell, for the amount the arsonist used, my son and I could have built a volcano like the one in
Dante's Peak
.”

Sean said something. Kevin said something else. I didn't hear any of it.

A lightbulb was flickering in my head. A movie. Holy crap! Suddenly, everything made sense. The stolen cars with insurance policies to cover the damage. The care with which the arsonist protected the fields around the fire. The missing rink key. The dead community theater tech guy in a burned-out car. And the tiny gray sponge I'd found in the field. It was a wind protector for a microphone.

I knew who had set the fires. It was someone who had told his crew to look for warehouse space to film scenes. Someone making an action movie. Someone I'd thought was sick, but who was trembling and sad because he had killed a friend. Someone who yelled at a roller derby team about responsibility with stunts because he had failed at one.

Someone named Max.

If I remembered correctly, he was finishing filming his movie this week. My bet was on tonight, which meant Sinbad's car was about to blow. I needed to stop Max before he had the chance.

Sean, Chuck, and Kevin were yelling at one another. Robbie was jumping from foot to foot, as if debating whether to enter the fray. None of them had noticed my Sherlock Holmes moment. I nudged Lionel and hooked my finger toward the door.

We hit the night air, and I started running for Lionel's monster truck.

“What's going on?”

“Sean has the wrong guy, and it's going to take too long to convince him. We don't have the time.” I climbed into the truck and strapped in as Lionel swung into the driver's seat. “The right one is going to blow up his father's car tonight. We have to get to the rink. Fast.”

“Why the rink?”

“I think Max has been using the rink as a soundstage. The farmers are on the lookout for anything suspicious. So is everyone else. Where is the one place Max can walk around doing whatever he wants without looking out of place?” No one would question why my rink manager was at the rink so late. People would just think he was trying to do a good job. And if he had friends with him, so what? He was a college grad just blowing off steam. It was a perfect cover.

Lionel pulled into the rink's side parking lot, and I hopped down from the truck. All was quiet. Maybe I had misjudged Max. Maybe he wasn't using the rink for his movie.

“All right, everyone. We have only one shot at this. The dance will be over soon. Let's make Kurt proud.”

Max.

I took off toward the front of the rink. I could hear Lionel running beside me. Nobody was in the front lot, but I could see some kind of lights glowing on the other side. My heel caught in a pothole, and I stumbled. Lionel's quick hands saved my butt from meeting the ground, and we kept running.

“Action.”

We turned the corner and ran into a blinding wave of light coming from the vacant lot between the rink and the neighboring antiques store down the road.

“Stop, Willard. Don't make me shoot you,” a chick's voice yelled.

My eyes adjusted to the light. A brunette woman wearing black leather pants, a T-shirt, and a black leather vest was brandishing a gun. A scruffy guy with something clutched in his fist was yelling back. Next to the scruffy guy, looking bright and shiny, was Sinbad's car. A couple of other people scurried around the fringes of the scene, doing God only knows what.

“I can't stop now. I've sacrificed everything for this. My family. My friends. You won't take this from me, too.”

“Please, Willard. Don't throw what we have away. I'll make sure you get a fair shake.”

Hello, melodrama. I looked around for Max. Squinting, I spotted him far in the distance. He was way in the back of the vacant lot, stationed next to a guy holding a camera.

“Come on.” I grabbed Lionel and circled around the now-embracing actors. Either Max had a camera with a great zoom lens or this was a really wide-angle shot. I'd never made a movie, but it seemed to me he should really be closer to the action to be able to hear what was going on. We had to be well over a hundred feet away.

I stepped behind Max and tapped him on the shoulder. He turned.

“Rebecca,” Max whispered, casting a nervous look at the camera. “I thought you'd be at the dance with everyone else in town. You're not supposed to be here.”

“I thought you were home sick,” I said, not caring if my annoyance was recorded for posterity. “I guess both of us were wrong. You need to turn yourself in to the police. They'll go easier on you that way.” I pulled my phone out of my purse and hit Sean's speed-dial number.

“And now!” someone to our right yelled.

Now what?

A car door slammed. I looked back to the set, where a guy was frantically sprinting away from Sinbad's car. The next thing I knew, I was flat on my butt. The car had exploded.

Flames lit the sky. Tires exploded, sending sparks and flaming rubber everywhere.
Kaboom.
Another explosion hit, louder and brighter than the first one. Set lights blew, the crew started screaming, and smoke filled the air.

“Cut and print,” Max yelled.

Lionel helped me off the ground. I took a step forward as I peered through the flame-lit haze. Sinbad's car was toast. I hoped he had good insurance.

I took a couple of steps toward the fire, and then I saw it. I couldn't breathe. It was as if someone had just sucker punched me.

Max had blown a hole in my rink.

 

Twenty-three

I sat up in bed and hoped
it had all been a bad dream. Nope. I was in Pop's house. That meant everything was horribly real. Crap.

Fire trucks and Sean's cruiser had arrived moments after the explosion. By the time Pop and the folks at the center had tromped over to see the excitement, the fire had been extinguished. After several real fires, our firefighters really knew what they were doing. Practice really does make perfect.

I pulled off the cocktail dress I'd slept in and grabbed the robe hanging on the back of the door. The fake satin had faded to barely pink and the lace trim was coming off, but it did the trick.

Barefoot, I headed to the bathroom. Flipping on the light switch, I choked back a scream. My face had a gray, smoky quality to it. My hair looked like it had been styled with a blender. Rolling up my sleeves, I noticed the faded outline of a sooty handprint. It was from Max.

Max had grabbed my arm the minute Sean and Sheriff Jackson arrived at the scene. It took me a minute to realize he'd been talking to me. I was having a hard time focusing on anything other than the hole in the side of my mother's beloved rink.

“My film. I need to finish my film. You understand that. You'll take care of the film until I have a chance to come get it. This movie needs to be seen.”

Sean raced over with his gun drawn. Finally, it was pointed at a bad guy. A very confused bad guy. He pushed a couple of DVDs into my hands just as Sean grabbed him. A few minutes later, he was trussed up in handcuffs.

“Making a movie isn't a crime,” Max cried as Sean dragged him to the cruiser and stuffed him in. “Once the movie is edited and the right people see it, I'll be famous. Even my father will see it. He'll understand how important this is to me. Wait. This is a mistake.”

A mistake that had landed me at Pop's for the night. Now that I was scrubbed clean, I went back to my bedroom and pulled on the shorts and tank top that had magically appeared in my absence. Then I followed my nose downstairs in search of coffee.

“There she is.” Pop gave me a toothy grin. “I wanted to wake you up, but Lionel said we should let you sleep off the excitement. Last night was a real humdinger.”

Lionel stood next to the kitchen sink, holding out a mug. I grabbed it and sucked the contents down. I held out the empty mug and Lionel refilled it.

“Okay, what happened while I slept?”

Pop's eyes danced. “The phone has been ringing off the hook. Your insurance agent is going to meet us at the rink in a half hour to do an assessment of the damage and start your claim. Then Sean Holmes called.”

“Is he pissed at me?”

Pop cocked his head to the side. “Why would he be? I thought the two of you put away your differences. It looked that way from the stage.”

“Last night wasn't what it looked like.”

“It looked like Lionel here tried to make you jealous with Betsy Moore. You decided to get even with him by making a spectacle of yourself with Sean.”

Okay, it was exactly what it looked like.

“If Sean doesn't want to arrest me, what does he want?”

“Your statement,” Lionel said, passing over a DiBekla Bakery box. “You were a little overwrought about the rink last night. He thought it'd be best to wait until you got some rest. I can give him a call and ask him to meet us at the rink.” His eyes told me he would also tell Sean to go to hell if I needed more time.

I blew a lock of hair out of my eyes. “Go ahead and call him.” I armed myself with two chocolate croissants from the box. “Let's get this over with.”

*   *   *

“Well, you were lucky the blast didn't do any structural damage.” Aaron, my insurance agent, wrote something down on his clipboard and gave me a smile.

I tried to smile back. I was finding it hard to think I was lucky while looking at a seven-by-five-foot hole in the back side of my rink. Bricks, assorted car and lighting parts, and a bunch of other odds and ends were scattered all over the asphalt.

The sounds of kids laughing during their morning skating lessons made me smile for real. George had taken one look at the hole and grabbed some police tape and a couple of folding chairs. He then blocked off what he considered an appropriate amount of rink space to ensure patron safety and plastered a big
OPEN
sign outside. It was probably a huge safety-code violation, but the three-piece-suit-wearing Aaron hadn't shut us down. If he didn't, no one else would.

“I'll send in my assessment, along with the police report about the explosion and about the break-in last week.”

“Why the break-in?” Pop asked. He had added a hard hat to his ensemble of a tight white T-shirt and jeans. I thought he looked like a member of the Village People. He thought he looked macho.

Agent Aaron jotted a few more notes. “Oh, insurance companies are famous for holding things up if a member of the staff was involved in the claim.” My stomach rolled. Aaron must have noticed my discomfort, because he added, “Don't worry. Deputy Holmes told me your manager already confessed to stealing the key from your grandfather.”

I thanked the agent, watched him walk away, and heard a throat clear behind me. Sean.

Lionel was leaning against a holeless part of the rink, a small smile on his face. Perfect.

“I know you're tired, but I need to get your statement. Do you want to do this inside?”

Sean was back to his nice-cop routine today.

“Here is fine.” Getting it over with was better. I walked Sean through the events of the week, finishing with last night's explosion. He asked a couple of questions but mainly let me do the talking. When I was done, I asked, “Was Max in the diner the night my father came to town? None of the people I talked to mentioned having seen him.”