Skating Under the Wire: A Mystery (Rebecca Robbins Mysteries) (11 page)

“I’m glad things are working out with you and Xavier. Is he going to be your date for the wedding?”

Erica’s smile faltered. “I hope so. His team finished the excavation and is heading home. Without dirt to dig in, I don’t know how much time he’ll be spending around here.”

Erica’s head dropped, and my heart squeezed. Erica needed a distraction from her relationship woes. “Do you want to come back to the rink with me? You can skate while I get some work done, and then we can eat the rest of these cookies.”

Erica’s smile told me the answer was a resounding yes.

The rink was hopping when we arrived. Earth, Wind & Fire’s “September” blared from the speakers as a large portion of the Indian Falls High School population skated counterclockwise while laughing, flirting, and falling. Erica raced to the locker room to shed her winter wear. When she skated onto the floor in her EstroGenocide uniform, the teens cheered.

Confident that Erica wasn’t dwelling on relationship concerns, I dodged a couple holding hands and darted into the rink office. When I closed the door, the music muted, making me once again appreciate the renovations Mom had done a year before she passed away. When I was growing up, the warped office door frame and thin door made the decibel level only slightly lower in here than on the other side. Other than the door, Mom skipped renovating the rest of the office. She figured she had time to update the room later. Later never came. In a way I was glad. The scarred wooden desk, old trophies, and framed photographs made me feel as though Mom could walk through the door at any moment. On paper, the rink was mine. In my heart, it would always belong to my mother.

Sitting in one of the only additions I’d made to the room—a fake leather wheely chair—I fired up the computer and ran through the details for the upcoming school field trips. Once I knew we had adequate staffing and soda to keep the kids wired for hours of skating, I shifted my attention back to my investigation.

After flipping open my notebook, I ran a search on Seth and Jan Kurtz. There wasn’t much to be found. Aside from the original article that appeared in the local paper after the theft (in which Seth was quoted as saying he hoped God struck the thief dead), I learned that Jan was a member of the quilting circle and that Seth habitually placed second in the Women’s Guild’s landscaping contest.

I jotted down the couple’s hobbies and ran searches on the other victims. By the time I’d gone through all the names, I’d learned that a holiday tree-decorating contest had resulted in several small fires, an exposé of Barna Donovan’s goat-eating alien had appeared in the
National Enquirer,
and Betsy Moore’s neighbor and helper with horses, Amy Jo Boggs, was Ginny Chapman’s great-niece. It was a small and peculiar world, especially when you lived in Indian Falls.

Since my Internet search had resulted in nothing more than my sending four Facebook friend requests, I picked up the phone and dialed my grandfather. While the World Wide Web was short on details on the upstanding citizens of Indian Falls, I was pretty sure Pop could tell me everything about them, including their favorite ice cream, how often they attended church, and who needed prunes to stay regular. The CIA, FBI, and Interpol had nothing on Pop and his friends.

Voice mail. Drat. Pop was probably too busy taunting my father with a roll of toilet paper to answer his phone. Leaving a message, I asked Pop to stop by Tilly’s for a quick performance and to call me when he had a chance.

Deciding it would be best to wait to hear from Pop before questioning any more witnesses, I flipped off the lights and opened the door to the dance party on wheels. The new disco ball I’d purchased was spinning. Flecks of colorful light shimmered on the floor. The smell of pizza, popcorn, and sweat filled the air. Everywhere I looked kids were laughing, smiling, and having a great time. It was moments like these that made me understand why my mom loved owning The Toe Stop. This wasn’t a business to make piles of cash. It was a place where a community could celebrate being together. Since I still wasn’t sure what I wanted to be when I grew up, I figured this was a pretty good way to spend my time.

I spotted Erica in the center of the rink floor. Raising my hand, I started to flag her down before deciding against it. She was having the time of her life giving skating technique tips to some bourgeoning speed skaters. Erica excelled at speed. She crouched low and had good balance, strong leg pushes to the side, and wonderful recovery strokes. The woman was a natural. Hmmm. I wondered if her schedule was open enough for her to consider teaching a speed-skating class. With George booked solid for lessons, I was on the hunt for more instructors. I’d have to talk to her about that.

I asked one of my high school employees to tell Erica I’d gone upstairs when she came off the floor. Then I zipped up my coat and headed to my apartment for rest and relaxation.

I spotted the answering machine blinking on the kitchen counter, and my heart leaped. Lionel must have called. All day I’d been trying to keep my mind from drifting back to last night. Now that I was thinking about it, my stomach gave a giddy flip as I waited for the sound of Lionel’s smooth baritone.

“Hey, girl.” Not Lionel. I felt a wave of disappointment even as I smiled at the voice of my best friend and former Chicago roommate, Jasmine. “Pick up the phone. Damn it. I must have called your home line. Either that or you’re outrunning madmen or getting shot at by camels. Whoever said city life is dangerous never visited your town. Call me back when you get this. Okay? I really need to talk.”

Jasmine sounded sad. Jasmine rarely sounded sad. She was loud and brash, and she never allowed herself to get down. It was that over-the-top personality and downright cheerfulness that kept me sane after my mother died and kept me laughing even as I packed up my things and moved back home. Though I knew she was bummed I had to leave, she never once allowed me to see her unhappiness. She sounded unhappy now.

Worry gnawed at me as I picked up the phone and dialed. No answer. I left a quick message, making sure to give her my cell number, put the phone back in the cradle, and stared at it. Should I call Lionel? What was the protocol for the day after you spent the night with a person? Part of me wanted to pick up the phone. The other part expected Lionel to call and was disappointed he hadn’t made the effort. After all, he was the one who used the L-word. Didn’t that obligate him to call? Of course, there was the possibility that last night was less than he’d hoped for. I mean, I was out of practice—and while everyone said it was like riding a bike, I was the type who skinned my knees several times before I got the wheels zipping along.

I felt like I was back in high school. One would think I would have learned something about male/female relationships since then. One would be wrong. Good thing technology had evolved since the days of pimples and pubescent angst. If I’d been able to send text messages back then, I wouldn’t have spent so much time sitting next to the phone.

Letting my fingers do the walking, I punched out what I hoped was a casual-sounding message telling Lionel my plans for the evening. Then I set the phone down to convince myself I wasn’t waiting for Lionel’s return message.

Five minutes passed. Ten. Fifteen. Nothing. No message. Not even one of those silly smiley faces to let me know my text had gone through. I gnawed on my lip, trying to resist the urge to pick up the phone and send another text. If he got the first text, the second would look desperate and clingy. Neither was a good look for me.

A knock on the door saved me from my insecurities. Erica was here. I sat the phone back on the kitchen counter and yelled, “The door’s open, Erica. Come on in.”

Putting a big smile on my face, I turned, walked out of the kitchen, and stopped dead in my tracks. Standing in my living room was a strange black-haired woman wearing a long trench coat. The moment she spotted me, her eyes narrowed.

“Are you Rebecca Robbins?” she asked.

“Yes.”

Her lip curled into a snarl as she reached into her coat pocket and said, “The days of you causing trouble are going to end, and they are going to end right now.”

Eight

I froze as I watched
the stranger in my living room pull something out of her pocket. The glint of the recessed lighting against metal made my pulse jump.

A knife? A gun?

Whatever it was, I didn’t plan on waiting around to find out. Over the last couple of months, I’d been shot at far more than I wanted to remember. I wasn’t interested in adding to the count.

Leaping to my left, I dove behind the couch and then crawled to the end table. My hand felt around atop the table and latched on to an ugly metal statue of a roller skate. I heard footsteps shuffle on the carpet to my left. A moment later the black-haired stranger came into view. I cocked back my arm and was ready to let the statue fly when the front door opened.

“Mother Lucas, what are you doing here?”

Mother Lucas?

I peeked over the sofa and spotted Danielle in the doorway. Whether her red cheeks were from the cold, embarrassment, or anger was a toss-up. Something told me it was a combination of all three.

Mother Lucas slid whatever object she was holding back into her pocket and gave Danielle a wide smile. “Danielle, dear. After hearing so much about Rebecca, I wanted to stop by and introduce myself. It’s such a pleasure to meet my son’s friends, especially the ones who are going to be part of the most important day of his life.”

“You broke into my apartment,” I said, keeping a firm grip on the ugly bronze statue.

“Is that true, Mother Lucas?” Danielle asked.

The woman’s eyes widened. “Of course not. My son is a minister.”

What one thing had to do with another was beyond me. Clearly, the woman needed to brush up on her Bible studies. By my estimation, Rich’s mother had put a dent in several commandments during the three minutes she’d been in my apartment.

“I didn’t invite you into my house,” I insisted.

“Of course you did, dear. I heard you quite clearly. You said to come in.” She gave me a small, sad smile. “Why else would I be standing here? Danielle, why don’t you get your friend a glass of water? She must have had a very long day between running her business and helping with your wedding.”

This felt like one of the
Twilight Zone
episodes I used to watch when I was eight. Occasionally, the whole thing was a dream. Maybe if I pinched myself Mother Lucas and her alternate reality would go away.

Nope. Still here.

“Look,” I said trying to ignore the bulge in Mother Lucas’s pocket. “This is all a misunderstanding. My friend Erica was supposed to be here, so when I heard someone arrive, I thought it was her and asked
her
to come in. I never expected someone I hadn’t met before to walk into my home.” Or cause me to dive behind furniture. Speaking of which, ouch. I had a rug burn on my knee. When I was a kid, I thought being a movie stuntperson would be a glamorous career. Wow, had I been wrong.

Mother Lucas straightened her shoulders. “You have the audacity to question my manners? I’m not the one who was crawling around on the floor.” Her nose wrinkled. “When was the last time you vacuumed?”

First she barged into my apartment. She then scared me with whatever was in her pocket, and now she was insulting my housekeeping skills! Enough was enough.

“I’d like you to leave.”

“No.”

I blinked. “No? What do you mean, no?”

Mother Lucas crossed her arms over her chest and sat on my chair. “You invited me into your home. That means I get to stay.”

This was worse than inviting a vampire into your home. Something told me that garlic would only make her hungry. I needed something stronger, and only one thing came to mind.

Taking the route to the kitchen that kept me as far away from my unwanted guest as possible, I said, “I’m asking you one last time to please leave.”

Mother Lucas shook her head.

“Okay,” I said grabbing my phone. “You asked for it. I’m calling the cops.”

Danielle gasped as my finger pushed Sean’s number on speed dial. “That’s not necessary, because we really have to get going,” she said. “Mother Lucas, you and Rebecca can find a better time to get acquainted.”

Like when hell froze over.

The phone started to ring.

Danielle looked at the phone in my hand, grabbed her soon-to-be mother-in-law by the hand, and tugged her out of the chair. “Rich is waiting in the car. He wanted to take us out to a special dinner to celebrate your early arrival. We don’t want to keep him waiting. Do we?”

Mother Lucas gave Danielle’s hand a pat. “Of course not. I’ll be here from now until the wedding. There’s plenty of time for me to pay Rebecca a call.” She looked at me and smiled. “I’m very much looking forward to getting to know all about you.”

With that threat hanging in the air, Mother Lucas walked out the door. Giving me an apologetic look, Danielle started to leave, then said, “I hate to ask, but have you come up with an idea for the new table favor yet?” When I raised an eyebrow, she said, “Why don’t we talk about it tomorrow?” and closed the door behind her.

Hitting
END
on my phone, I decided I needed a drink. Or four.

Two steps away from the kitchen, I heard the door handle shift. Turning, I cocked my roller-skate-statue throwing arm back and stopped short as Sean Holmes asked, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Oy. Just what I needed. “I’m practicing shot put for the Olympic trials. What does it look like I’m doing?”

I waited for Sean to say something cutting. Instead he laughed. This day was getting stranger by the minute.

“Look, I’ve had a long day. Could laughing at my life wait until tomorrow?” I put down the statue, turned my back, and marched into the kitchen.

Sean followed. “I’m here because you called. Your phone calls often involve some kind of catastrophe, so I decided to drop by and see what was up.”

Damn. I hated that he was right, about both the call and my life. I popped the cork on a bottle of wine and grabbed a glass. “The phone call was a mistake. Sorry to waste your time.”