Skating Over the Line Page 17

  For Kevin’s sake, I promised to keep quiet about the alibis and the fire retardant for as long as I could. If someone was going to make me eat borscht, I’d lie, too.

  I hit the rink in time for a grateful Max to go find lunch. I guess snack-bar food wasn’t his idea of a balanced meal. Some days, I would have agreed. Not today, though. I grabbed a big salt-covered pretzel and a cup of melted yellow cheese. Thus fortified, I went back to my office to check e-mail and review the stuff my trainee had been in charge of this morning. While the business wasn’t the driving force in my life, I wasn’t about to let Max run it into the ground.

  According to the records, Max had booked a couple of parties and done some lesson scheduling. He’d misquoted the price for one of the parties, but it was in my favor, so I couldn’t really complain. The customer would be thrilled when I called and gave her a lower price. I’d be a hero. Gotta love that.

  A half hour later, the rink’s paperwork was complete. Logging on to my e-mail account, I munched on a pretzel and smiled. My best friend and former Chicago roomie, Jasmine, had sent me a long dissertation on her life. Apparently, it sucked. I wasn’t sure it really did. Jasmine knew how badly I wanted to get back to the bright lights and pollution-filled air of Chicago. She might be overstating her unhappiness so I wouldn’t feel jealous. She’d been doing that kind of thing since I’d come back here and gotten stuck.

  I typed a long e-mail to Jasmine, instructing her to get off the ledge. If things were bad on her end, I told her, she could come join me. Jasmine was a city girl through and through. The mere thought of joining me in the middle of farm country would act like shock treatment and force her to be happy. Was I a good friend or what?

  Hitting Send, I finished off my pretzel and contemplated my next move in the car-fire investigation. Safety Zone had a Web site, and the stuff was cheap and easy to order. Anyone could do it. I picked up the phone and dialed the customer-service number listed on the screen. The woman’s voice was perky and very friendly. The tone got even friendlier when she refused to tell me if someone in Indian Falls had purchased the stuff. I hung up, trying to decide if I was frustrated or impressed with Safety Zone’s staff. Probably both.

  The problem was, I didn’t have any other leads to help me ferret out who had started the fire. Nor did I have any new ideas on the death-threat front. I figured Sean had been busy checking out hotels. If everything had gone as planned, he would have the guys in a cell by now. Maybe I should check that out, I thought. Knowing they were off the streets would do wonders for my blood pressure.

  “Rebecca.”

  I spun around when I heard the voice coming from the doorway.

  Holy crap. I sucked in some air.

  Danielle was wearing a pair of short red shorts that barely covered the bottoms of her butt cheeks. The top of her was in a white lacy corset-looking shirt that displayed a lot of ample chest. The whole look was capped off by white four-inch strappy sandals. Danielle no longer looked like the girlfriend of mild-mannered Pastor Rich.

  She gave me an uncertain smile. “Too much?”

  Danielle sat down in the chair and let out a squeak. Her short shorts had no doubt ridden high into her butt crack.

  Danielle pushed a lock of her dark hair out of her eyes. “I don’t know what to do. This is the first time I’ve dated anyone who won’t make a move on me. I’m getting desperate.”

  “Do you love Rich?” I asked. Pastor Rich was the epitome of respectability and moral living—everything Danielle had come to Indian Falls for. But was she in love with him? I wasn’t sure.

  Danielle bit her bottom lip. “I think I do, but this relationship is so different. All my other boyfriends had me on my back after the first couple dates. I loved feeling close to them, but after a while, the whole thing fizzled. With Rich, we don’t make out or do anything improper. So I can’t tell if we have any chemistry. Can you be in love without having sex?”

  I wasn’t the queen of healthy relationships. My relationship with Lionel had a lot of problems, mostly mine. Still, I was pretty sure I knew the answer to this one.

  “Do you enjoy talking to him and spending time with him?”

  She nodded. The sadness in her eyes made me believe that she felt a lot more than just enjoyment when she was with him. Danielle had it bad.

  “Then, yes, you can love someone you haven’t slept with. What you need to do is change clothes and then talk to Rich. Tell him you think he isn’t attracted to you. See what he does. I bet you’ll be surprised.” Move over, Dr. Phil.

  Danielle chewed the bottom of her lip some more. “Do I have to? I’m not like you. Talking about my feelings isn’t my strong suit.”

  If I was better at talking about relationships than she was, we were in serious trouble.

  “Well,” I said with a laugh, “the guy with the great ass from the drugstore is nice. I’m not investigating him anymore. I guess you could always flirt with him and see if Rich gets jealous.”

  I was joking. Only Danielle’s pursed lips told me she was considering the option. This was bad.

  “Look, I really think talking to Rich is the best plan. Honesty will help you build a lasting relationship.” Clearly, I was better at giving advice than following it.

  Danielle stood up and gave me a high-wattage smile. “Thanks for the help. Do you mind if I change back into my other clothes in here? Everyone was at lunch when I arrived, but it sounds busy out there now. I wouldn’t want to give anyone the wrong idea.” Her tone had taken on the singsong quality of a Stepford wife. It was scary.

  “Of course. But I don’t think I helped.”

  She closed the office door and pulled a pair of tan Capri pants from her bag. “You did. These clothes aren’t the answer. I think I know what is.”

  She shrugged a purple T-shirt over the bustier. In the new ensemble, she looked like a housewife ready to do battle with the grocery store. “I’ve got to go. Thanks for the help, Rebecca. And call me if you need someone to stay with you. Sleeping upstairs after a death threat and a break-in can’t be easy.” With that, she walked out the door.

  Danielle’s skimpy outfit had momentarily shocked me into forgetting about my current predicament. I had enjoyed the momentary break from indigestion. Now it was back.

  Car thefts, fire retardants, scary men, death threats, and a missing rink key. No matter how I tried, the pieces wouldn’t fit together in a way that made sense.

  Restless, I checked the clock. One-thirty. The locksmith should be here. I grabbed my purse and headed into the rink.

  Sure enough, my locksmith, Ollie Black, was hitching up his overalls and starting work on the door. My supervision wasn’t exactly needed, but I was grateful for the excuse to get out of the office. I stayed out front with Ollie and watched the small balding spot in the middle of his ashy hair turn bright red under the heat of the sun. It’s the small things.

  When Ollie was done, he gave me a set of six new keys for the door. I, in turn, gave him a check. Money well spent, since otherwise I knew I wouldn’t sleep. I slipped the old key off my key ring and replaced it with the shiny new one.

  Ollie strolled off with his toolbox in hand, and I went inside to find George. He was guzzling water from a bottle near the entrance. I gave him three of the keys: one for him and the others for my two most responsible high school employees.

  “What about my key?” Max pouted as he approached. Between the heat outside and the physical activity involved in the day-to-day running of the rink, Max’s suit was looking a little less than fresh. “I can stop by at night and make sure the rink really is locked. We don’t want any more mistakes.”

  George started to lunge. I grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled. The whole scene reminded me of something out of Looney Toons. Wile E. Coyote goes after the Road Runner, but something holds him back. He’s suddenly running in place and the Road Runner gets away. Only in this case, the Road Runner was standing there taunting Wile E. with a smug smile. The cartoon version o
f the Road Runner was way smarter than my manager, Max.

  I gave George’s sweaty T-shirt a hard yank, which sent him stumbling two steps backward, and said, “You can have a key after you finish your probation period on Monday.”

  I could tell Max was tempted to stick his tongue out at George, but he restrained himself and said, “Makes sense to me. Oh, I left a couple of DVDs on your desk for you to look at when you have a minute. I hope you enjoy them.”

  And with that, he strolled off toward the rental counter. After taking three deep breaths, George gave me half a smile, blew his whistle, and skated off. The Toe Stop all-skate session had begun.

  With George and Max separated and occupied, I went to perform key-delivery service. First stop: the retirement home. I found Doreen in her apartment, fully clothed and with no men in sight.

  She took the key and said, “We need to be careful nothing like this happens again. The buyers don’t live in town and don’t understand how Indian Falls works. One more incident and I’m certain they’ll pull out of the deal.”

  Something else to worry about.

  I assured Doreen that the rink was in perfect condition and nothing else would spook the buyers. Of course, while saying this, I kept my fingers crossed behind my back. I had no idea if anything else would happen and had no control over stopping it if it did. Scary, but true.

  At Pop’s house, all evidence of the band had cleared away and my grandfather’s car was parked in the garage. I walked into the house and almost ran smack into Pop as he headed out.

  “Sorry, Rebecca. I can’t talk long. I have to do my Elvis Serenade act for Eleanor’s birthday party. Her friends thought I’d be more fun than watching Alex Trebek on Jeopardy. Eleanor has a thing for Alex, so I’m not so sure.”

  It wasn’t until he mentioned his Elvis act that I noticed his clothes: a black-and-silver studded jumpsuit unzipped down to his navel and a black pompadour wig. When a seventy-six-year-old guy in an Elvis getup looks completely normal, you know it’s time to reevaluate your life.

  I pulled out one of the new keys and handed it to Pop. “That’s okay. I was just dropping off your new key.”

  Pop took it with a frown. “Your father hasn’t been back to the house today. I’ll bet my false teeth he took the other key.” He put the key on his rabbit’s foot key chain and shoved it down deep into his pants. The bulge it created made me grimace.

  I shrugged. “If he did, I can’t figure out why. None of the rink’s money was taken.” Figuring out my father would take a team of well-trained therapists years. I’d had only a few days.

  “Well, let me know if you find him. I’ve got a pair of cuffs with his name on it.”

  “Sure thing.”

  Pop and I walked out, got in our respective cars, and headed toward town. When I started to turn left on Main Street, Pop honked his horn and gave me a jaunty salute as he drove off to his big gig.

  I cruised up and down the downtown streets, looking for signs of my father.

  Nothing.

  Feeling brave, or at last moderately bored, I cruised up to the highway and did drive-bys of the hotels. No big Spanish dudes in sight. And the clerks still weren’t talking. In fact, one guy glared at me and told me the cops had been by. From the angry balling of the clerk’s fists, I assumed Sean had made his usual good impression.

  I staked out the last hotel for a while with the hope my karma would improve and the big guys would come walking through the door. Two hours later, my armpits were sweaty and my butt had fallen asleep. I decided to end my first attempt at surveillance. Next time, I’d bring a book, a large icy soda, and a big bag of popcorn.

  The sky was darkening as I turned off the highway and pointed my Civic back toward Indian Falls. I was feeling a little bummed. I hadn’t found the bad guys. Worse, Sean hadn’t found them. That meant they were still out there, waiting to make good on their threat. I needed a lead.

  A loud crash of thunder made me swerve my car slightly onto the shoulder. I looked up at the sky. No rain clouds in sight. Another thunderclap rocked the air.

  I knew that sound.

  My head spun around and I surveyed the surrounding fields.

  There.

  In the distance, a bright burst of light lit up the blackening sky.

  Fire. And I was pretty sure it was my father’s car I was watching burn.

  Seventeen

  Pedal to the metal, it still took me almost fifteen minutes to reach the blaze. Every time I thought I was on the right road, a field got in my way. And it was getting dark. I felt like a rat in a maze, looking for the cheese. While hunting for the path to the fire, I hit number five on my phone and connected to the Indian Falls PD. I had their number on speed dial. Not a good sign. Ever.

  Roxy’s voice got all high-pitched when I reported the fire. She instructed me to stay on the line until help arrived. I did her a favor and hung up. She’d be able to pass the gossip quicker, and I wouldn’t be distracted enough to drive into any cows. A win-win proposition.

  I screeched to a halt in front of a smoke- and fire-filled field. The car in the center of it looked like it might match the description of Dad’s old Skyhawk, but it was hard to tell with so much smoke.

  I jumped out of my Civic and took a few cautious steps toward the car. As in the previous incident, the field itself wasn’t on fire, only the car.

  Sweat from the heat trickled down my back as I took another step forward and squinted to see through the smoky air. The tires had already exploded. And like last time, there was a body in the driver’s seat. Probably a mannequin. But probably didn’t make me feel good about watching the flames burn, whatever was inside.

  Stepping forward through the smoke, I put my hands up to ward off the heat. Leaning to my right to get a better view inside the car’s window, I choked back a scream. That was no mannequin. It was a man. And his arm had just moved.

  Sirens sounded in the distance, but I knew the firefighters would never get here fast enough to save the guy. My brain made the connection between Stan’s sudden absence, the threatening Spanish dudes, and the car. The guy inside might be my father.

  Stripping off my shirt, I wrapped it around my hand to act as a kind of oven mitt. Then, before the rational part of my mind could question my actions, I raced forward, grabbed the door handle, and pulled.

  The door was locked. I peered into the window and saw the little lock thingy was up. Not locked. Stuck.

  I yanked again. The heat from the handle radiated through my shirt, but I wasn’t about to let go. I yanked again, this time throwing all my weight away from the car.

  Oof. I landed on the steaming ground with a thud. Looking up, I saw that the car door was wide open. I scrambled over trampled cornstalks to the car and, ignoring the wave of heat, turned the guy’s head to face me.

  Not my dad.

  Relief shuddered through me. Then I noticed this guy wasn’t breathing. Crap. Crap. Crap.

  The flames had reached the floorboards of the car and were starting to lap at the guy’s pants. Grabbing his arm, I tugged. He slid out of the car toward me. I gripped him around the chest and dragged him out of the car as the car popped and sent sparks flying. I knew we needed to get away from the car before something else blew.

  Sweat poured off of my face and chest, and the guy was slick with perspiration or gasoline—I smelled both. Either way, it was like trying to keep hold of a greased pig. Wiping my hands on my shorts, I grabbed hold of him and grunted a lot while dragging him through the rows of plants to the edge of the field.

  The man looked to be in his thirties and had medium-length hair, a soul patch, and glasses. And he still wasn’t breathing.

  CPR training from my summer as an Indian Falls Park District lifeguard took over. I opened his mouth and puffed into it. Breath. I pushed on his chest.

  Nothing.

  I repeated the process.

  Still nothing.

  The sirens came closer. Out of the corner of my eye, I could
see the lights. Breath. Push. Push. Push. Breath. Push. Push. Push.

  Car doors slammed. I heard feet pound against the nearby pavement.

  Breath. Push. Push. Push.

  “There’s a man down. Rebecca, we need you to give us some room.” Hands pulled me up and away from the man on the ground. Two guys swooped into the space I had just occupied and took the man’s vitals.

  “Rebecca?”

  No signs of life. They tried the CPR trick on him, too. Except they used four pushes against his chest instead of three.

  “Rebecca?”

  The paramedics on the ground shook their heads. The guy I had worked so hard to save was dead.

  “Rebecca.”

  I blinked and looked up. Sean was standing there watching me. And for a change, he wasn’t angry. He looked, well, freaked.

  “Are you going to arrest me?” I asked, sounding like a frog was lodged in my throat. All the smoke I’d inhaled made it difficult to talk.

  “Did you set the fire?” Sean asked with a ghost of a smile. Cop humor.

  I shook my head. “No, but I saw the explosion as I was driving home from the highway motels. I figure the snotty clerk ratted me out.”

  Sean’s smile grew. “He did. But arresting you for obstruction doesn’t have its usual appeal. Maybe another time.” I tried to smile, but my lips felt like they were ready to crack.

  “Here. You should take this.” Sean unbuttoned his shirt and handed it to me.

  “Why?” I asked. Then I looked down and about fainted. No shirt. I was wearing only my Pretty in Pink push-up bra.

  Yikes. I snatched the shirt and shrugged it on. My fingers struggled with the buttons, but after a few moments I was dressed.

  “What did you do to your hand?”

  I blinked.

  Sean didn’t wait for a reply. He took my right hand in his and turned it over. It was red and in a couple of places the red patches were starting to swell. No wonder buttoning my shirt had hurt. The hot door handle had done a number on my fingers.

  “Ow,” I said. Now that he’d pointed out my burns, I realized several places on my arms and legs were feeling tingly. And not in a good way.