“Kimberlee Samson. She spells Kimberlee with a double ee on the end.”
“I’d love to go now.” I dropped the chalk in the basket. “But I need to inspect my planter this afternoon.” After all, I had to be ready to get in the field when the weather turned.
“I’ll call Fitness Universe and see if I can figure out Kimberlee’s work schedule,” Makayla said. “If she’s around when you’re done, we can go see her. I have an essay that’s due a few days after break, so I should be a responsible adult too.”
“Sounds good.”
After we finished eating, Makayla went upstairs, and I headed outside to my pole barn where Grandpa and I stored equipment. When I slid the large metal doors aside and flicked on the lights, my gray striped cat sprang off the workbench in the corner. He rubbed around my legs as I patted his head. Since the afternoon was pleasant, I left the doors open to get some air circulating.
Seeing the planter caused a surge of excitement for the upcoming season. I turned on some choral music, and a while later, I was in the middle of examining seed tubes for wear when Makayla ran in.
“Georgia!”
My orange cat skittered into a corner next to a tractor and eyed my stepsister from behind a tire.
I walked around the planter. “What?”
She waved a scrap of paper. “I found a note in Quincy’s chorale dress pocket.”
Chapter Thirteen
My mind raced. “What does it say?”
She held the note so I could see.
You can’t ignore this deadline. Meet BB at Fillmore Cemetery. 1:00 a.m. Saturday.
Someone had printed the note in blue ink, and the paper had been torn from one of the attendance pads at my church, because the church’s logo remained on the back side. “Whoever slipped Quincy the note was at the concert.” I studied the rumpled paper. “What deadline?”
“I wish I knew. Whatever it was, it sounds like she was mixed up in something bad.” Makayla wrapped her arms around her waist and bounced up and down on her toes.
“Any idea who BB is?”
“No. I can’t even think of someone with those initials.”
I couldn’t either. We walked out of the barn, and I slid the doors shut. “What made you think to look in Quincy’s dress pocket?”
“I was trying to write my essay but got stuck. I thought about everything that’s happened to see if I could remember anything strange.” She followed me across the driveway, the gravel crunching under our feet. “Sammi and I couldn’t find Quincy at the church after the concert.”
“Yeah.” I held the back door open. “I thought she went to the restroom.”
Makayla hovered at the door. “That’s what she said, but right after the concert was over, we all went before you met us in the chapel. I didn’t think about her going again because I figured she didn’t feel well. But when she came around the corner, she had a piece of paper in her hand.”
I didn’t recall seeing it, but I remembered her sulky posture. “Right before she shoved her hands in her pockets?” I crossed the kitchen, grabbed a baggie from the pantry, and handed it to Makayla.
“Yep.” She slid the note inside. “What should we do now?”
I closed the pantry door. “We’re going to see Detective Hawk. She needs to look at this note.”
Tears pooled in Makayla’s eyes. “I’m really scared for Quincy.”
I rested my hand on her shoulder. “I know. We’ll do what we can to help and keep praying.”
Makayla and I entered the Richard County Sheriff’s Department, and the twenty-something receptionist, whom I’d always figured had a crush on Cal, greeted us.
“We need to see Detective Hawk as soon as she’s available.”
There was no mistaking the smug look on the receptionist’s face as she flipped her bangs out of her eyes and picked up the phone. “I’ll let her know you’re here, Georgia. Have a seat.”
We perched on the hard, plastic chairs, and Makayla tapped her foot against the worn tile.
“Do you remember seeing Quincy talking to anyone after the concert?” I asked.
She closed her eyes. “I can’t remember. It wasn’t that long between when we went to the restroom and you met us in the chapel.”
A door opened, and the dark-haired woman that I’d seen on Saturday in Latte Conspiracies exited, followed by Detective Hawk. The woman wore a leopard-print trench coat and skinny jeans with a frayed hem.
“I trust you won’t mention what we’ve discussed to my son.” The woman’s stern expression left no room for argument.
Then I recognized her voice.
Cal’s mom. I hadn’t identified her from the few pictures I’d seen in Cal’s apartment because, after her divorce, she’d let her short hair grow past her shoulders and had cosmetic work done.
Botox? Facelift? Nose job? I couldn’t decide.
“You have my word. I’ll be in touch if I find out anything new.” Detective Hawk gripped the edge of the door.
“Thank you.” Yvonne turned, and our eyes met. “Georgia Rae Winston!” She croakled. “I shouldn’t be surprised—running into you here. Come over here, dear. Let me give you a hug.” She didn’t wait for me to cross the room, and instead, closed the gap and threw her arms—and the aroma of cigarettes and vanilla—around me. “Don’t you give up on that son of mine,” she whispered as she gripped my upper arms. “He’ll come around one of these days. Yvonne doesn’t like that baker chick he went out with. Too perky.” She released her vise grip on my appendages and barged out the door as if she were ready to grab the world by its shirt collar.
Detective Hawk blew out a breath. “Come on back, ladies.” She led us through a maze of desks and stopped next to a pair of desks that faced each other.
Cal’s workspace was clear except for his computer.
“Have a seat.” She motioned to two chairs she’d arranged beside her desk, which was strewn with papers and held a picture of her with her fiancé. They were planning to marry in April.
We sat, and Makayla thrust the baggie toward the detective. “I found this note in Quincy’s dress pocket.”
Detective Hawk took the bag. “Thank you. How did—?” Her phone rang. “Hawk.” She listened. “Okay.” She disconnected and stood. “I need to take care of something for another case. I’ll be back in a minute.” She left Quincy’s note on her desk and hurried away.
My eyes fell on a pale green sticky note attached to her computer monitor. Yvonne Conner was scribbled on the paper—followed by a phone number. Underneath, was the name Mason Thrailkill.
Cal’s best friend from Ohio—who was also a detective.
Yvonne had worked as a homicide detective in Cleveland, and while it made sense for her to visit and help Cal move, why was she talking to Detective Hawk without Cal knowing? Was Mason involved in whatever situation Yvonne had been discussing with Detective Hawk? Was that what Cal had refused to tell me about? If so, why?
“Are you okay?” Makayla tapped my arm. “You zoned out.”
“Yeah.” I blinked. “I’m trying to figure out what Cal’s mom was doing.”
“I wouldn’t get in her way if I were you.”
“That’s solid advice.”
“Which you’re going to ignore.”
“Maybe.” Probably.
Detective Hawk returned from a back hallway. “Sorry about that.” She rolled out her desk chair and sat. “Do know who BB is?”
“No.”
“Did you see who gave Quincy the note?” Detective Hawk asked.
“No.” Makayla folded and unfolded her hands. “I’m sorry.”
“Are we suspects in Elias Kurtz’s murder?” I asked.
“No. Other than the two of you talking to Elias on Saturday night, there’s no evidence that suggests you’re involved.”
“Do you have a suspect?”
“We’ve been through this.” Detective Hawk glared at me. “You know I can’t say.”
“You know I can�
��t help trying.” I hoped she wouldn’t change her name when she got married because her fierce expression was so . . . hawk-like. I fought a badly timed giggle.
As if she could read my thoughts, Detective Hawk narrowed her eyes and rose. “Thanks for turning in the note. I’ll be in touch if I have any more questions.” She collected Makayla’s phone number and walked us toward the exit.
“One more thing.” I paused next to the door that led to the waiting area.
“I’m not going to tell you why Cal’s mom was here.” Detective Hawk folded her arms, but her eyes glimmered with amusement.
Makayla emitted a fake-sounding cough punctuated with a giggle.
“Does her visit have something to do with Mason Thrailkill?”
Detective Hawk patted my arm. “You’ve got some nice investigative chops. Figure it out.” She held my gaze and opened the door.
I took that as a solid yes.
We left the building, and as soon as we were in my truck, Makayla leaned back against the headrest. “Now what?”
My mind was whirling in five directions, but I needed to pick one and go with it. “Did you call Fitness Universe and get Kimberlee’s work schedule?”
“I got so caught up in the note that I completely forgot.”
“No problem. Since we’re already in town, let’s just drop in and see if she’s working.”
When Makayla and I arrived at Fitness Universe, we marched straight to the front desk. This wasn’t the first time I’d been to this gym in a quest for information, but the scrawny kid working was unfamiliar. With his slouchy back to the desk, he wore earbuds and bobbed his head to a steady beat. A Tune Nutritional Supplements water bottle rested next to a desktop computer.
I stood at the counter and stared at him.
A few seconds later, he whipped around with wide eyes and yanked out the earbuds. “Sorry. What can I do for you?” His nametag read Otis.
I motioned to Makayla. “We’d like information on purchasing memberships.”
“Sure.” He grabbed a couple of brochures and slid them across the counter. “We have several plans.” When his eyes fell on Makayla, his slumped posture went on hiatus. “We offer a two-week trial, so we can show you what we’ve got.”
This is all you, Makayla.
“Cool. My friend Kimberlee Samson raves about this place. Do you know her?” She flipped her hair over her shoulder and leaned against the counter.
“Yeah. She teaches cycling classes.” Otis moved closer to Makayla and lowered his voice. “She’s a real drill sergeant, so don’t take her sessions unless you want a serious workout.”
Makayla waved a hand. “I love a good workout, so I’m sold. How do we sign up for the trial?”
Sign up? She couldn’t have just pretended?
“I just need to see some ID, and I’ll get you going.”
Oh, goodie.
We produced our driver’s licenses, and after taking our information, Otis handed us two temporary cards. “These are good for the next two weeks, and you can take advantage of any of our classes. After the trial period expires, you’ll need to select one of our membership packages if you’re still interested.”
“Do you have a class schedule?” she asked.
“You can find them on our app or our website. Put in the zip code for this location, and you’ll have a complete schedule.”
“Cool.” Makayla smiled at him.
“Thanks, Otis. By the way.” I pointed to his water bottle. “How do you like your Tune Supplements?”
“They’re awesomesauce. Tempo is my favorite because it gives me tons of energy when I drink it in the morning. Chord is a solid multivitamin.” He lowered his voice. “I’m going to have to find a new sales rep, though. Mine was the guy who got shot at Briarwick Cemetery on Saturday night. Did you hear about that?”
What a small world. “Yeah. Pretty scary and sad.”
“Did he workout here?” Makayla asked.
“All the time.” Otis shook his head. “Elias was a great dude. He and your friend Kimberlee had just started dating—but you probably already knew that.”
No, no we didn’t. “It’s certainly a tragic situation.” I held up my pass. “Thanks again for your help.”
“Enjoy your trial.” He fixed his gaze on Makayla before putting his earbuds back in place and resuming the head bobbing.
We huddled near the door as Makayla downloaded the app. “Got the schedule.” She tapped a few times. “Most of her classes are in the mornings, but Kimberlee’s teaching a beginning cycling class today at five.”
Since Bell’s Dinner Theater was closed on Mondays, that made sense.
“We have time to go to your house, change, and get back here, right?” she asked.
I glanced at my watch. 4:03. “I suppose.”
“Let’s go.” She charged out the door.
I set my jaw and followed. How bad could one cycling class be?
Precisely one hour and twenty-seven minutes after Makayla and I had made the decision to take a cycling class, I knew what eternal torment felt like.
My ample thighs burned with a searing fire I didn’t know was possible. Kimberlee rode her bike and barked out commands as her ponytail swished back and forth. My backside protested from being squished against the seat. With all the inventions created during the last century, someone couldn’t have designed a more comfortable bike seat?
And did I mention, Taryn Anderson was on the bike in front of me looking as perky as she had on her date with my ex-boyfriend? How was it even possible to look so cute while enduring torture?
In that moment, I was completely convinced there was no luck quite like Georgia Rae Winston Luck.
Next to me, Makayla was winded but keeping up with Kimberlee’s orders.
I pressed a towel against my forehead but didn’t stop moving my legs for fear Kimberlee would call me out. She’d already done that to a couple of teenage guys she thought were slacking.
Would I even be able to limp tomorrow?
Ten minutes later, Kimberlee told us to take a break. I slid off the bike and wobbled on gelatin legs. I latched onto the bike for support.
“Are you okay?” Makayla whispered.
“I’ve been better,” I wheezed and took a drink.
“I’m going to refill my water.” She grabbed her bottle and left the room.
Taryn turned around, her top knot wobbling. “Oh, my goodness, Georgia! How’s it going? I haven’t seen you in my shop for a while.” She looked me up and down. “Wait. Don’t tell me. You’re on a diet. That’s why.” She stuck out her lip. “Don’t forget my bakery if you have a cheat day.”
“Cheating isn’t my thing,” I said.
“I can tell. You’ve lost what, ten pounds?”
Maybe I liked her after all and could forgive her for dating my ex-boyfriend. “You’re so sweet to say that!” I’d probably gained ten pounds since the breakup. I didn’t have a scale, but my jeans were snug because I’d been hitting the chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream a little too hard. “Have you been working out here for long?”
“Since January. This is the first year I’ve kept my New Year’s resolutions longer than a week.”
“Good for you.” How could I segue to Cal?
Taryn might spill more information than Detective Hawk had surrendered. Was there a graceful—or casual—way to achieve that without seeming like a nosy ex-girlfriend?
It wouldn’t hurt to try. “It’s always good to be healthy. Not to mention the men in your life might appreciate the results.”
“Yeah. I suppose.” Her eyes gleamed. “How are things going with Hamlet?”
“Hamlet and I are friends.” I kept my tone light, even though I wanted to punch Miss Smirky Pants in the throat.
“Not for long, if he gets his way. If there’s one thing I know about Hamlet Miller, it’s that he’s persistent. We dated in high school, you know.” She gazed at me as if she couldn’t wait to see how I reacted.
I was pretty sure my brother had told me Hamlet and Taryn had just been friends, but I commanded my face to produce a smile. She’s not getting a rise out of me. No way, no how. “I remember seeing you guys in my brother’s prom pictures.” In that moment I was certain if I weren’t a farmer, I’d take the first job I could find far away from Central Indiana where there were plenty of available guys who didn’t know me—or anyone from my past. “How are things going with Cal?” My voice was a little too squeaky to pass for cool.
Life Lesson #384: Never let yourself be outdone.
“They’re great. He’s amazing. Guys like him don’t come along every day.”
“I know.” I laughed as if her barbs didn’t make me want to body slam her. Although, if my wrestling moves looked anything like my tennis skills, that wouldn’t end well. “I’m sure it’s been interesting having his mother around.”
“Yes, Mrs. Perkins is such a sweet lady, and she’s been a big help to Cal while he’s moving into Beverly Alspaugh’s old house.”
Mrs. Perkins? Sweet lady? Obviously, Taryn had never met Yvonne Conner. Interesting. It was also apparent she thought she was giving me the scoop about Cal’s house. “He’ll make a great neighbor.”
Taryn flashed a fake smile.
“All right. Break’s over.” Kimberlee clapped her hands.
We climbed on our bikes, and I steeled myself for round two. Then, my phone chirped. I snatched it, launched myself off the bike, and hightailed it into the hall on shaky limbs. I didn’t recognize the number and didn’t care if it was a robocall. I’d pretend it was important.
“Georgia Winston.”
“This is Yvonne.”
“Hey! What’s up?” I collapsed on a wooden bench and leaned my head against the wall.
“You and I need to talk—ASAP. I’d suggest we meet at that kooky little coffee shop, but seeing as how the owner kicked you out, that’s off the table.” There was no mistaking her irritation.
Was Yvonne put out with Bobbi Sue or me? “Bobbi Sue apologized and lifted my ban, so if you want to meet there we could, which is great because it’s my favorite place around, and I didn’t know what I was going to do if I couldn’t get my caffeine fix—”
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