Skating Under the Wire: A Mystery (Rebecca Robbins Mysteries) (28 page)

“Yep.” Pop took a swig of beer. “It’s been going on for years. Took a while before Sean clued in. Now that he has, he pretends he doesn’t notice when she hits on him. It’s pretty entertaining if you know the backstory. Anyway, that’s the reason she’ll keep this off the gossip airwaves.”

“That’s where you come in,” I said. “If you tell one or two of your friends that you stopped by the station and heard Roxy talking about Bryan and Reginald, I’m betting they’ll share the news. You could even drop in a line or two about Reggie and Bryan’s expensive electronics equipment.”

“Oh, that’s good.” Jasmine turned to Pop and smiled. “I never knew how good she was at this sneaky stuff.”

Pop grinned. “I taught her everything she knows.”

I wasn’t sure I was comfortable with being “sneaky,” but I’d been called worse.

“I’m betting Reginald and Bryan’s house will be an irresistible target. All I’ll have to do is show up and catch the thief in the act.”

I waited for Pop to cheer. Instead, he chewed popcorn and said, “There’s only one problem.”

“What?” Without calling in the FBI, the plan was as good as it was going to get.

“You’re cooking a dinner for twenty people on Thursday and planning to stake out a house on the same day. How do you figure on being two places at once?”

Damn. Pop was right. This was a problem. Unless I could come up with an answer, I’d have to choose between disappointing hungry holiday guests or letting down Mrs. Johnson and allowing a criminal go free.

This was bad.

Twenty-one

“So what do I do?”
I asked.

By the time I’d finished the bowl of popcorn, we hadn’t come up with an answer. Now since Jasmine and Pop were asleep on the couch, they weren’t in a position to help problem-solve.

I grabbed spare blankets from the closet, tucked them both in, snagged a soda, and headed for my room. Going to bed at ten o’clock made me feel lame, but it’d been a rough week. I’d have to let my subconscious work on the problem. Maybe when I woke my worries would be over.

I took a quick shower, changed into my pink flannel pajamas, texted Danielle about my idea for table favors, and was about to climb into bed when the phone rang. Lionel.

I said hello and asked, “How’s your mother?”

“She’s glad the two of you ran into each other.” Lionel laughed. “My father’s sorry he missed meeting you. I thought maybe we could arrange for all of us to get together before Thursday. Do you have time for dinner tomorrow?”

I mentally scrolled through my calendar. “I’m helping Danielle decorate the church.” As were half the members of EstroGenocide.

“How about Tuesday?”

“Danielle’s having a bachelorette party.” “Party” was probably too strong a word since the event was taking place at the Toe Stop, but Danielle was determined to have some fun. “Then Wednesday is the rehearsal, followed by dinner.”

Lionel sighed, and I heard the telltale sound of calendar pages flipping. “My afternoons are packed since I’m taking Thursday and Friday off. Well…” His voice turned deep and sexy. “We can always meet for breakfast. Want to come over?”

“Your parents are staying with you!”

“So?”

“I can’t sleep over with them there,” I squeaked. “What would they think?”

“They’d think we have sex, which will probably make my mother happy since she wants grandchildren.”

Eek.

I wasn’t ready to have kids. Hell, half the time I had a hard time believing I wasn’t still a kid myself. I mean, look at me. How could I help a child figure out who they were and what they wanted to be when I barely understood those things about myself?

“I can’t have sex with you if your parents are in the next room.” Grandchildren aside, the thought of sleeping with Lionel with his mom listening in made me feel icky.

“Okay,” Lionel said. “Then why don’t I spend the night with you?”

“What will you tell your parents?”

“That I’m spending the night with you.”

I gnawed on my lower lip.

“Let me guess, you don’t like that any better.”

“Not really,” I admitted. “Besides, Pop and Jasmine are camping here tonight.”

Lionel sighed again. “Well, we’ll see you at the funeral tomorrow. Why don’t I check in with you after that and see what your schedule looks like? My parents and I can always meet you for coffee if there isn’t time for anything else. I want them to know and love you the way I do.”

A girl couldn’t ask for any more than that.

A
YOU’RE A GENIUS
text from Danielle was waiting for me when I woke the next morning. My lack of ability to solve either of my cases made me feel like I hadn’t earned the title, but the compliment bolstered my spirits as I got out of bed.

Jasmine was still conked out on the couch when I went into the living room. Pop was nowhere to be found. Either he’d decided to walk home while I was asleep or he’d called one of his friends for a ride. I hoped it was the latter since the radio announcer said overnight rain and dropping temperatures had caused patches of ice on the roads. Worried, I placed a quick call. I heaved a sigh of relief when Pop answered—despite the sound of a woman’s voice in the background asking if he wanted breakfast in bed.

Hearing the word “breakfast” made my stomach growl. My mother always swore a hot breakfast helped a person think more clearly. Since I needed all the clarity I could get, I decided to heed her advice.

Sadly, sweetened carbohydrates and salty protein didn’t fix my investigation problem. Mom’s theory was a bust. Cooking a large breakfast also took longer than anticipated, which is why Jasmine and I walked into St. Mark’s Church for the funeral just as Pastor Rich was taking the pulpit.

The large sanctuary was filled to capacity, a testament to Ginny’s popularity. I slid into a back pew and scanned the crowd for any sign of Jimmy Bakersfield. I spotted Pop and Ethel near the front. Sean was leaning against a pillar on the right side of the sanctuary. Sheriff Jackson was positioned on the left. Jimmy was a no-show.

The funeral was short but touching. Pastor Rich talked about Ginny’s love of bingo, warm weather, and family before reading a familiar Bible verse, one that was also used at my mother’s funeral. Tears filled my eyes as “Amazing Grace” began to play. My nose started running. I reached into my purse for a tissue and came up empty.

I felt a drip from my nose land above my lip. Then another.

With no tissue in sight, I had only one choice. Trying to appear casual, I lifted my arm up to my nose, wiped, and spotted Lionel’s mother sitting in a pew about three rows up—watching me.

Was I making a great impression or what?

When the funeral was over, Jasmine and I hopped in my Honda and joined the procession of cars to the cemetery. Grass crunched under my feet as I walked over to stand under a tree next to Pop. He had one arm around a weeping Ethel and his other around his former girlfriend Louise Laggotti.

Wind whipped our coats. People stomped their feet in an attempt to stay warm as Rich said a quick prayer and told everyone to join Ginny’s family at the senior center for lunch. Normally, all things funeral made me sob, but I was too busy being cold to get upset. Next time.

I spotted Lionel helping his mother into the monster truck and walked over. I leaned up and gave him a quick kiss. “Do you want to sit together during lunch? That would give your parents and me a chance to talk.” Plus, being surrounded by a hundred other people would make it difficult for Lionel’s mom to ask embarrassing questions.

“We can’t. Dad has a conference call, and I have an appointment with a goat.”

Jimmy also didn’t attend the lunch. Either he also had an appointment with a goat or he had advance knowledge of the menu. No amount of salt and pepper could make the flavorless chicken and pastelike mashed potatoes appetizing. Although no one else seemed to have a problem with the food. Gossip about Jimmy’s disappearance and speculation as to why he might have killed Ginny must have added enough spice to make it taste good.

Since I was still stuffed with French toast, I moved through the hall, hoping gossip would clue me in on a motive for Ginny’s death. An hour later, I’d learned that Barna Donavan thought Jimmy had been possessed by aliens, Lorna Theiss was sure it was due to the too-small size of his tighty whities (that damn elastic can really mess with a person’s circulation), and Eleanor thought Jimmy was being framed. The last was the only sensible comment I’d heard, which prompted me to ask, “Why do you think that?”

Eleanor shrugged. “I’m not supposed to say.”

“Why not?”

Eleanor glanced over her shoulder and whispered, “I’m not allowed to talk about the medical condition of a patient. Especially when the patient is still alive.”

Since Ginny had just been laid to rest, Eleanor had to be talking about Jimmy. I considered pressing Eleanor for information, but I didn’t want to compromise her medical ethics. Instead, I grabbed a cup of coffee, added lots of cream and sugar, and walked into the hallway to think. There were two reasons Jimmy was a suspect. First, he was wandering around the center during the time Ginny was given the shot of insulin. Second, he was diabetic, which meant he had access to the murder weapon.

Or maybe not.

I walked back into the hall and found Pop surrounded by a group of admiring fans. A few gave me dirty looks when I pulled him away.

“What’s up?” Pop asked. “I was just about to tell them about the time Miguel forgot to wear a belt onstage. The pants were two sizes too big, and he’d run out of clean underwear. The audience went wild.”

Miguel was only five feet tall, but what he lacked in height he more than made up for in girth. He was also coated in a thick layer of black hair. The idea of seeing him go commando was enough to make me want to faint. No doubt a number of the audience members did.

Pushing the image of Miguel’s hairy butt out of my head, I asked, “Do you know what kind of diabetes Jimmy had?”

Pop frowned. “He had type 2, like your grandmother. Jimmy didn’t like to talk about it, though. He said chicks didn’t like hearing about a man’s weaknesses.”

“Grandma never took shots for her diabetes.”

“Nope.” Pop’s eyes grew misty. “Doc said she might have to switch to shots someday, but she didn’t live long enough for that to happen.”

Pop took my hand and held it. No matter how many women he dated or how many gigs he performed, Pop still missed Grandma. I did, too.

When Pop strolled back to regale his fans with stories about Miguel’s bared butt, I thought about Jimmy. Maybe the reason I couldn’t discern a motive for Jimmy killing Ginny was because he didn’t do it. Maybe he bolted from the wake because he thought I’d learned he was behind the thefts. I had a hard time believing Jimmy was a long-term criminal mastermind, but what other answer was there?

So far, Jimmy was under suspicion for Ginny’s murder because he had means and opportunity. Take away means and the probability of him committing the crime would drop like a rock. I needed to know if Jimmy treated his diabetes with pills or insulin shots.

“I can’t talk to you about Jimmy’s care,” Eleanor said as I slid into the seat next to her. The rest of her tablemates had table-hopped or gone home for a nap.

“I know,” I said, “but if Jimmy still takes pills for his type 2 diabetes, you could be right about his being framed. Giving that information to the sheriff’s office could get Jimmy off the hook.”

“You think so?” Eleanor’s wide eyes told me I’d scored a direct hit with my information. Standing, she said, “I’ll talk to Doc and see what we can do.”

I felt a stab of triumph followed by a swell of disappointment. I no longer had a primary suspect in Ginny’s murder. Technically, Jimmy could have gotten his hands on some liquid insulin to do the job, but my gut told me he hadn’t. And I still had no idea who had.

I didn’t have time to find out either. The minute lunch ended, Danielle cornered me with Rich’s SUV keys in one hand and a large to-do list in the other. It was wedding time.

Since Jasmine took bodyguard duty seriously, she came along. I performed introductions between the two as we climbed into the car. Rich’s SUV had heated seats. I was appreciating the toasty-warm quality of my butt cheeks when I noticed Jasmine and Danielle watching each other in the rearview mirror. Both were frowning.

Uh-oh.

I realized the problem a second too late.

“Holy shit,” Jasmine yelled. “I know you. You’re the hooker.”

Oh God! I’d been so distracted by the murder and the thefts I’d forgotten that Jasmine and Danielle had crossed paths back in Chicago when Danielle was ringing the male half of the crowd’s bells at our former boss’s holiday party.

I could see Danielle remembered Jasmine, too. Her eyes widened, and her foot slammed on the brakes. We must have hit one of the slick spots the radio announcer had been talking about, because instead of stopping, the car skidded for a second before it spun out of control.

Twenty-two

Danielle and Jasmine screamed.
I opened my mouth to join the chorus, but fear closed off my throat. All I could do was grab the oh-shit bar and hang on for dear life. The car careened to the left, spun in a circle, and then hopped the curb. Smack. We smashed into one of the new saplings that had been planted at the beginning of fall as part of Mayor Poste’s town beautification plan and came to a stop.

The tree wasn’t so beautiful now. What had once been a three-foot-tall, two-inch-wide sapling now resembled a broken toothpick. The tree was toast, but none of us inside the borrowed SUV was hurt. Thank goodness for seat belts and malfunctioning air bags. Danielle should recommend her fiancé have the latter looked at, but for now I was glad I wasn’t being suffocated by an oversized punching bag. Danielle’s expression, however, suggested she’d rather be unconscious than deal with the person who was currently hyperventilating in the backseat.

“She has to leave town,” Danielle said. “Or she’ll ruin everything.”

“Why do I have to leave town?” Jasmine sat up like a rocket. “It’s not like I’m the one who dressed up like Santa’s skanky helper and let people unwrap my present before Christmas.”