Skating Under the Wire: A Mystery (Rebecca Robbins Mysteries) (24 page)

“She was out sick last week, so she hasn’t been in the loop, but from what she’s said, no one is leaving town.” Diane shrugged. “Personally, I think not telling anyone is the smart way to go. If Mom and I had to leave for the holiday, I’d turn on the lights and the television and leave one car parked in the driveway so everyone would think we were there.”

Yep—the girl was smart. “Has anyone in the diner mentioned leaving town?”

“Melissa Abbott’s going to her dad’s house in St. Louis, but her mother will still be here. Mrs. Schaffer is going to her daughter’s house, but I’m pretty sure her son will be at home.” Diane frowned. “I don’t think that’s the kind of information you’re looking for, though.”

It wasn’t. Or maybe it was.

Sam dinged the bell in the kitchen window, and Diane scurried back around the counter to get my food. By the time I’d polished off my burger and eaten enough of the salad to make myself feel virtuous, I had the beginnings of a plan.

Roxy Moore’s sneeze greeted me as I walked through the door of the sheriff’s department. Her nose matched the magenta hue of her lipstick. Balled-up tissues were scattered across the reception desk. She added one more to their number and frowned as I crossed to her.

“How are you feeling?” I asked. “Sean said you were sick. He was worried about you.”

“Really?” Roxy’s tired eyes narrowed. “If you’re here to see Deputy Holmes, you’ll have to wait. He’s in a meeting with the mayor and the sheriff.”

I ignored the less than welcoming tone and asked, “Has anyone asked the sheriff to patrol their neighborhood while they’re out of town this Thursday?”

She frowned. “That information is confidential.”

Roxy sneezed. I handed her a tissue. “I’m not asking to see the list. I just want to know if there is one.”

If Roxy didn’t tell me, I was pretty sure Sean would, but I’d rather not have to ask him. Sean’s out-of-character behavior was starting to wig me out.

Roxy sneezed three more times and glared from behind her tissue. “The sheriff decided it would be more productive to use methods other than a list of residences to assign the additional Thanksgiving patrols.”

In other words—no.

Armed with the knowledge that our thief might be hard up for targets, I got in my car and headed for the only people I knew were hitting the road for the holiday.

“We’re not going.” Bryan’s bottom lip trembled as he hung an ornament on the Christmas tree he said he was decorating to make himself feel better. Unless the ornaments were made out of Seth and Jan’s happiness-inducing horticulture, I didn’t think the tree was going to do the job.

“What happened?” I asked.

Bryan’s shoulders slumped. A lone tear streaked down his face. “Reginald’s family doesn’t like me.”

“Did Reginald tell you that?”

“No.” He sniffled. “He came in from his trip, ignored the fresh blueberry muffins I made, and told me we were staying here for the holiday.”

I’d had Bryan’s muffins. They were exceptional. If Reginald passed up the chance to eat one fresh from the oven, something was wrong.

“Do you want me to talk to Reginald?” I asked. “He might be more willing to tell me what’s going on.”

Armed with a steaming mug of coffee and a plate of muffins, I headed to the back of the house, where Reginald and Bryan had set up their office. Growing up, I’d seen a bunch of farmhouse offices. Most of those were comprised of scarred wooden desks, a phone, an out-of-date computer, and heaps of paper. Reginald and Bryan’s office looked like it had been designed by NASA. A large, sleek, circular, black desk equipped with a laptop, two flat-screen monitors, and two phones sat in the middle of the room. Behind the desk was a bank of televisions. Some displayed numbers or colorful graphs. Others streamed images captured by the video cameras set up in the enormous greenhouse Reginald and Bryan had built out back. In essence, anyone looking at those monitors was subjected to the excitement of watching grass grow. Oh, boy.

Reginald sat in the leather chair behind the desk. His signature dreadlocks were fastened by a white rubber band at his nape. A pair of glasses perched on his nose as he glanced from monitor to monitor and talked into a headset. When Reginald spotted me hovering in the doorway, he waved me into one of the sleek red visitor chairs and finished his discussion about next year’s green manure.

Ick.

I sipped at my coffee and put the plate of muffins on the desk. Discussion of manure was an effective appetite suppressant.

When Reginald’s call was finished, I felt compelled to ask, “What do you feed the cows to turn the manure green?”

Reginald looked baffled and then started to laugh. His laugh was deep, warm, and infectious. At least it was after he explained that green manure doesn’t come from cows. It’s created out of crops grown specifically to plow under for the nutrients they’ll add to the soil. Huh. I learned something new every day.

Since we weren’t discussing cow patties, I handed a muffin to Reginald and took one for myself. “Bryan said your trip to see your family for Thanksgiving was canceled. He’s convinced your family hates him.”

“They don’t hate him.” Reginald took the earpiece off and threw it on the desk. “They’re mad at each other. My brother learned that my sister was—” He sighed. “It doesn’t matter. I decided we should sit this Thanksgiving out. Bryan’s too sensitive to deal with my family in the middle of open warfare.”

“You should probably tell him that. Bryan thinks this is his fault.”

Reginald peeled the paper off his muffin with a sigh. “Bryan was so excited about spending the holiday with my folks. He’s always wanted to belong to a big family. His disowned him when he came out on his eighteenth birthday, and he has built my family up in his head, which is why I haven’t told him the crap that goes on back home. I didn’t want to burst his bubble.”

“I think it’s popped.”

“Yeah.” He frowned. “I hate to see him upset. We used to spend Thanksgiving with friends when we lived in the city. Once we moved, we spent the holidays alone. We try to convince each other it’s romantic, but it’s not. It’s lonely. I wanted this year to be different.”

“Then it will be,” I said. “You have family here in Indian Falls. You should spend Thanksgiving with them.”

“I think whatever gave you that bruise on your chin knocked something loose. Bryan and I don’t have family here.”

“You have me.” I smiled. “I’m cooking dinner for Pop, Stan, and a bunch of our friends. We’d love for you to join us.”

Reginald swallowed hard. His eyes glistened. Straightening his shoulders, Reginald cleared his throat and nodded. “Bryan and I would be honored. We think of you as family, too.”

Bryan wasn’t as dignified in his acceptance. He laughed. He cried. He promised to bake all week to make sure we didn’t run out of pumpkin pie. “I can also bring whatever else you need. Stuffing? Cranberries?”

“How about plates and silverware?” I suggested. “I don’t have enough place settings for everyone invited.” Apparently, my mother had never cooked for more than a dozen people at any one time. Mom was smart.

“Plates and silverware it is.” Bryan also vowed to tell everyone in town that I was the nicest person he’d ever met.

“About that…” I said. It was time to transition to my real purpose for dropping by. “I need you to do me a favor.”

“Anything.” Bryan beamed.

“Don’t tell anyone you’re coming to my place on Thursday.” Before Bryan could worry that I was embarrassed to have them eat dinner at my table, I explained my plan to trap the thief. “If we know which house he’s going to rob, there’s a good chance we can catch him in the act and put him out of business for good. You just need to let one or two of the gossips know you’re leaving town and let nature take its course.”

For the next hour we ate muffins, decorated the Christmas tree, and discussed strategy. Since Bryan was the more excitable of the two, he’d report their leaving town to the sheriff’s department and request that additional patrols swing by the house. Reginald would be point person for quietly spreading news of their out-of-town adventure at the diner and market. My gut told me the thief had gotten wind of the sheriff’s lists in the past. If I was wrong, Reginald asking those he told about the trip to keep it a secret would do the rest. Indian Falls’ gossips wouldn’t be able to resist. They never had before.

Promising I’d be in touch, I hung one last bell on the tree, took my bag of take-out muffins from Bryan, and hit the road. I took the long way back to town to avoid driving past Seth and Jan’s. The extra miles gave me time to consider whether to run my real-life version of
Mousetrap
by Sean. For the plan to work, I’d need Sean and his gun to be at Reginald and Bryan’s house for the moment of truth. However, extending him an engraved invitation to my catch-a-crook party might not be my best option. Sean wasn’t the type to go along with someone else’s plan, no matter how good it might be. Even if he did go along, he’d probably find a way to cut me out of the action and rake in the glory. Getting credit for the arrest didn’t matter to me, but I did want to be there when the thief was unmasked. For that to happen, I’d have to come up with a ploy to get Sean to Reginald and Bryan’s for the moment of truth.

I stepped on the brakes and stared at the house blazing with light in the distance. While I’d been thinking about trapping the thief, my subconscious had done some trapping of its own. Instead of steering toward town as I’d intended, I’d driven to Lionel’s house. He hadn’t called since walking out the door last night. I wanted to believe a goat had eaten his phone, but something told me the goat hadn’t been that cooperative. Lionel was still mad. Since I was stopped on the street instead of pulling into his driveway, I guessed I was angry, too.

I started to drive away, but then I remembered the way Lionel looked at my hospital bedside. On edge. Scared. Did that give him a right to yell, storm off, and make me unhappy by not calling? No, but fear made people do strange things. I was adult enough to understand that this experience had left us both unhappy. If I wanted to untie those emotional knots, I had to go to him.

I turned up the drive and cut the engine before I could chicken out. Muffins in hand, I looked from the house to the barn. Both had lights on. I decided to check the barn first. If nothing else, I’d get nuzzled by a camel. The world was a happier place when a dromedary loved you.

The smell of hay and animals greeted me as I walked through the barn’s door. Sheep bleated. A cow chewed its cud, and several horses whinnied. The simple, rustic atmosphere was balm for my jittery nerves, as was the Chicago-Bears-ball-cap-wearing camel I found sitting on the hay in his double-wide back stall. Elwood made a throaty sound and scrambled to his feet in an effort to score attention. I was more than happy to oblige.

Elwood made happy camel sounds as I petted his neck. Then I scratched his ears with one hand while with the other I fed him part of a muffin. When he’d devoured his snack, Elwood’s velvety nose bumped against my shoulder and his cheek rubbed against mine. The uncomplicated, undemanding affection of a camel broke down the barrier I’d constructed between me and fear, uncertainty, and pain. Stripped of my defenses, I did the only thing I could do. I wrapped my arms around Elwood’s neck, buried my face in his coarse brown fur, and cried.

My shoulder ached. The bruises and scrapes on my legs and chin throbbed, and the stress and worry that I might not live up to the trust Mrs. Johnson and the entire Chapman family had placed in me made me want to burrow in the hay. Unfortunately, hiding in this barn wasn’t a good option. The animals wouldn’t object, but the owner might. If he didn’t, I still wouldn’t be able to stay. Annoying as it might be, Sean was right. I needed to solve the puzzles. So far, I’d made good progress on the robberies. Now it was time to focus on finding Ginny’s killer.

I gave Elwood one last hug, took a step back, and wiped the tears from my eyes. Crying wasn’t going to solve the problem. Looking for answers was.

I turned and felt my breath catch. Lionel was leaning against the stall doorway with his arms crossed. Automatically, I reached up to fix my hair and then stopped. Between the swollen eyes, tear-streaked makeup, and bits of camel fur stuck to my cheeks, my hair was the least of my concerns.

Lionel jammed his hands in his jeans pockets. “I was just about to call you.”

“Really?”

My disbelief made him laugh. “Yes, really. I’d intended to wait until you contacted me. Then I talked to my mother, who informed me that my reasoning was flawed.”

“You told your mother we had a fight?” I had yet to meet the woman and she already hated me. Oh joy.

“She called to ask if she and Dad could come a few days early. She also wanted me to ask if she could help cook on Thanksgiving. That’s when I mentioned we might not be joining your hardheaded self for dinner.”

I cringed.

Lionel shrugged. “I expected my mother to take my side, especially when I explained what had happened. Instead, I got a kick in the ass. My mother said that any man who picked a fight with his girlfriend on the day she was released from the hospital was doomed to go single for the rest of his life. She also told me if I was holding out for you to come to me, she hoped you were a smart enough woman to let me wait until hell froze over. And if by some miracle you did make contact first, I was to beg for forgiveness and convince you to marry me because you were a better woman than I deserved.”

Wow. “Your mother sounds…” Intimidating. “Impressive.”

“She is.” Lionel smiled. “So what do you think?”

“About what?”

“What my mother told me to do.”

My mouth went dry. Butterflies whacked my stomach. If Lionel proposed, Bryan’s blueberry muffins were going to make a reappearance.

Not that I was opposed to the concept of marriage. My grandfather and grandmother had provided an envious example of two people who were happier together than apart. Still, though I was delighted to help my friends enter into legally committed relationships, I felt faint at the thought of being in one myself. Until that changed, I wasn’t ready to consider marriage. Especially not after the fight Lionel and I had had yesterday. As it stood now, we’d be divorced before the honeymoon.