The Bogus Biker

by Judy Nickles

  Downtown stores, long-closed, reopened as antique malls and sidewalk cafes. Even though she didn’t need the personal income, Penelope turned the old Kelley home into a bed and breakfast. Amaryllis survived, barely at first, and now, three years later, things were going well as clever low-cost advertising and word-of-mouth promotion brought people flocking to the small town of fewer than six thousand souls.

  At the top of the stairs, Penelope shook her head to clear it and paused in front of the room her last guests had vacated without waiting for breakfast. Below, in the main hall, the grandfather clock chimed ten. She’d been up since five that morning, and the incident at the Sit-n-Swill, while exciting in a strange sort of way, had sucked the day’s energy out of her. Tomorrow would be plenty of time to clean the room. Plenty of time unless Bradley got wind of the visitors and made a connection.

  She turned on the overhead light as soon as she’d closed the door behind her. The room bore scant evidence of occupancy except for the tousled covers on the twin beds. But an odd odor, different from the Lavender Spice potpourri she kept around in glass bowls from the local variety store, made her sniff twice. In the bathroom, a few dark hairs decorated the sink, probably courtesy of the man who wore his hair pulled back and fastened with a rubber band just above the collar of the golf shirt with the pricey logo. It had seemed an odd combination to Penelope then, and it seemed more so now.

  Peering down at the lined wastebasket, she noticed a sprinkling of green on a tissue at the bottom, and then she knew what she’d smelled. Pot. Weed. Those two shiftless skunks were smoking up here, drat them, even though I told them clearly this was a tobacco-free establishment. I said they could go out on the terrace if they wanted to light up. Then she considered that, in a way, they’d complied with the rule—they hadn’t been smoking tobacco.

  After a quick trip to the kitchen for some sandwich bags, she collected all the ‘evidence’ and looked for more. Though she searched under the beds, behind the drapes, and in drawers, she found nothing. Well, this was enough. She’d give the bags to Bradley tomorrow, along with the registration cards the two men had filled out when they checked in. I doubt they used their real names, and I never asked to see a driver’s license, but I will from now on.

  What kind of car had they been driving? She closed her eyes as if that would clear her mind, but of course it didn’t. All she could come up with was it had been a small car. Blue. Probably a rental. They’d told her they were from northern Missouri on the way to Louisiana, got tired of driving, and just wanted a place to stay the night. She took their word for it, just like she did with any other guest. She’d never had a problem, not until now. Now she wondered why they’d bypassed a dozen motels along I-30 out of Little Rock in favor of a relatively unknown B&B in a town five miles off the beaten path. On second thought, reviewing the facts, she didn’t wonder at all.

  After a quick shower, she set her alarm for 5 AM and slipped into bed. Shipment. I know they said the word ‘shipment’. Pot probably. But for Roger Sitton and the Sit-n-Swill? I’ve known that man all my life, and Mary Lynn was right—he probably does have lace on his drawers. He’s always reminded me of a sand crab scuttling around, begging not to be noticed. How he ran a business was the mystery, but Mary Lynn had it from her brother, a CPA, that the Sit-n-Swill always turned a tidy profit. Until tonight, she’d never wondered how a sleazy little joint on the edge of town generated that much taxable income. But why, if the money came from something illegal, would he risk reporting it?

  Penelope closed her eyes and let herself drift. The red numbers on her clock radio read 12:26 when she came wide awake. Hail? The spatter on her windows reminded her of the sound, but the Channel 7 forecaster she relied on said to expect clear, sunny days for the next week. Gravel then. The driveway below was full of it. She sat up. Or buckshot. Surely not…no, please…

  Rolling out of bed, her knees protesting their sudden violent contact with the hardwood floor, she crawled to the window and inched her eyes just over the wide sill. A full moon lit up the sky like morning. She straightened enough to peek out. A man stood under the magnolia tree her mother planted the day after the doctor told her she had maybe another six months. “I want to leave something behind,” she told Penelope, who had taken over hand-raising the tree when her mother could no longer leave her bed. She’d babied it through ice and wind and occasional dry spells. It was part of her.

  Scrambling to her feet, she rolled out the casement window. “Hey, you get away from there,” she yelled.

  The man fled.

  Not bothering to put a robe over the knee-length night shirt with Garfield on the front, she scooted downstairs and out the kitchen door onto the terrace, rounding the house like a racehorse on a curve. Only when the gravel cut into her bare feet did she stop to think what she was doing. “I saw you!” she hollered, retreating toward the house. “I…” She clamped her mouth shut. Maybe telling the intruder she’d seen him wasn’t such a good idea.

  Back on the terrace, she stopped to listen. No sound came from the house. Hopefully, her guests and her father—most especially her father—hadn’t heard the commotion. She had her hand on the doorknob when she heard the distant rumble of motorcycles. Her throat contracted. Where were they? Where were they going at this hour of the morning? And why were they so far from their usual territory out by Pine Branch Creek?

  She hesitated a second too long. Tiny’s now-familiar fingers closed around her upper arm and squeezed.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “You.”

  “Yeah, me. Open the door.”

  “What are you going to do? Rob me? Ravage me?”

  “Neither, but those dudes coming closer just might. Get inside.”

  She heard him turn the deadbolt as soon as he closed the door behind them. The lock was purely for code compliance. No one ever locked their doors in Amaryllis, Arkansas, but maybe he didn’t know that—or maybe whatever was going on was more serious than she thought. In the light from the underside of the microwave, she caught sight of the raw, red scrapes on his left arm, but it was the cut above his right eyebrow, dripping blood that ran down his cheek like tears, that spurred her to action. “You’re hurt.”

  “You noticed.”

  “I was an ER nurse for fifteen years.”

  “Well, well, versatile, aren’t we?”

  His eyes ranging over her reminded her she wasn’t wearing a robe. She brought her arms up in front of her and said, “I’ll go upstairs and get something to take care of that cut.”

  “Do I need to go with you?”

  “I won’t call the police.”

  “Good.” He dropped into a chair like a punctured balloon and leaned his head in his hands.

  Upstairs, Penelope put on a terrycloth robe before gathering first-aid supplies from the bathroom. Tiny hadn’t moved when she got back to the kitchen.

  “I could use a drink,” he murmured from behind his hands.

  “Sorry, I don’t keep anything stronger than soda.”

  “Figures.”

  She wet some cotton at the sink. “Take off the bandana and let me have a look at that cut.” Once she had the blood stanched, she cleaned the wound with peroxide and said, “It needs stitches. I’m guessing three at least.”

  “Too bad. Just patch it up.”

  “I can put some butterfly strips on it, but it’ll leave a scar.”

  “Just another one for the collection.”

  He howled and let out a few expletives when she used antiseptic spray before applying the bandage. “I’ve taken care of toddlers who didn’t complain that much.”

  He glared at her, but before he could reply, Jake’s voice came out of the darkness in the hall outside his room. “Everything all right in there, Nellie?”

  “Just patching up a skinned knee, Daddy.”

  Tiny gave her a look between disgust and loathing.

  “Need any help?”

  “We’re fine.” She waited until Jake’s footsteps
died away before cleaning the abrasions on Tiny’s arm. “When did you last have a tetanus shot?”

  “Couple of years ago, I think.”

  “Okay. Depending on what you cut your head on, you might want to check and get a booster if necessary. What’s your real name?”

  “Tiny’s all you need to know.”

  She shrugged. “How’d you get hurt? Your so-called friends out there?”

  “No.”

  “You’re not really one of them, are you?”

  “You’re too nosy for your own good.”

  “So my son Bradley says.”

  “He’s a good cop.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I know stuff.”

  She took a canned soda from the refrigerator and poured it over ice. “Here. Want something to eat?”

  He shook his head, then touched the bandage and winced. “That hurts.”

  “Sorry. You need to keep it clean so it doesn’t get infected.”

  “I guess you’d know.” He met her eyes. She had to look away before she melted.

  “I told you—I was a nurse for twenty years. Worked for a couple of doctors and then in an ER over in Little Rock.”

  “Why’d you quit?”

  “I got tired of commuting. Then after a while I didn’t want to see another mangled body as long as I lived. Like yours will be if you keep riding that ‘cycle without a helmet.”

  “Bikers don’t wear helmets. Not this bunch anyway.”

  “But you’re not one of them.”

  He concentrated on the glass in his hand. “Whatever.”

  “What were you doing throwing gravel at my window at 12:26 in the blessed morning? And for that matter, how did you know which window was mine?”

  “Your curtains were open.”

  She gasped.

  “You were decent.” He grinned. “Unfortunately.”

  “That’s not something you say to a lady.”

  He leered at her.

  “What were you doing out there?”

  “Staying out of sight.”

  “Of what? Or should I ask, of whom?”

  “You shouldn’t ask at all.”

  “What’s going on at the Sit-n-Swill?”

  He ignored her question. “Got any place I can catch some sleep before the sun comes up?”

  She nodded. “There’s an empty room.”

  He got up from the table. “Thanks for the first aid.”

  “Don’t mention it. And if you shower, which I hope you will before you get between the clean sheets, don’t sing and wake up the other guests.”

  He almost smiled. “I wouldn’t think of it.”

  She showed him the front guestroom. “And no smoking. Tobacco or weed.”

  His eyebrows went up. “What do you know about weed?”

  “I never smoked it, if that’s what you’re thinking.” She hesitated. “I found some in the wastebasket in the room next to yours. Those two men who stayed here last night…”

  He grabbed her arm. “Here? Last night?”

  She jerked away from him. “Two of them. They talked a lot like you do when you’re not trying to sound like a biker. The accent, I mean.”

  “What did you do with it?”

  “Put it in a baggie to give to Bradley tomorrow.”

  “Be sure you do it then.” He leaned against the door facing. “What time will your guests be out of the way?”

  “They’re going to a family reunion in the park about nine.”

  “Then I’ll wait until they’re gone before I leave.”

  “That’s not a bad idea. They might wonder what kind of place I keep if you show up at the breakfast table smelling like you do.”

  He glared.

  “Where’s your bike?”

  “Behind your garage. Out of sight.”

  “Well, go to bed. In a few hours I’ve got to dress and go downstairs to start breakfast.”

  “Sorry I got you up.”

  Penelope thought he didn’t sound sorry at all. And she knew she wasn’t.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  (Saturday)

  “You’re still alive,” Penelope said to Tiny as he poked his head into the kitchen through the swinging door from the dining room. “The coast is clear. You can come on in.”

  “Yeah. Thanks for patching me up last night.”

  “You’ve said that.” She screwed up her nose as she sniffed the air.

  “I showered,” he said.

  “Your clothes didn’t.”

  “All I had with me.”

  She slipped a bacon, ham, and cheese omelet onto a plate and added two biscuits from the warming oven. “Coffee?”

  “Sure. This looks good.”

  “There’s honeydew melon in the refrigerator if you want it.”

  “This is good, thanks.”

  She poured two cups of coffee and sat down across from him. “I’ll take the baggie to Bradley this morning.”

  “And the registration card. I assume your guests register and show ID.”

  “Yes and no.”

  “No ID.”

  “Mostly I get families like the one who’s here now. I’ve never had a problem.”

  “There’s always a first time.”

  “I guess this is it.”

  He nodded with his mouth full.

  “All right. I don’t have to be told twice.”

  He swallowed. “How long have you had this place?”

  “Daddy grew up in this house, and so did I. I opened the B&B three years ago.”

  “What’s so special about the tree you ran me away from?”

  “My mother planted it before she died, the day the doctor told her she didn’t have all that much time left.”

  “Which was?”

  “Fifteen years ago. Bradley was twelve.”

  “I’m sorry about your mother.”

  “She said she wanted to leave something behind. Besides me, that is.”

  He buttered a biscuit and reached for the jam pot. “Nice idea.”

  “I raised that tree from a sapling, and I don’t take kindly to anybody messing around with it.”

  Abijah materialized from the utility room, where he’d been eating breakfast, and sprang into Penelope’s lap. Tiny dropped his biscuit and uttered an oath. “What is that thing?”

  Penelope frowned. “This is Abijah, and I don’t appreciate that kind of language.”

  “Sorry.” He retrieved the biscuit, which had landed upside down on the plate, and licked strawberry jam from his fingers.

  “Abijah is a fixture around here.”

  “Owns the place, huh?”

  “Just about. So, are you going to tell me what’s going on at the Sit-n-Swill.”

  He licked his fingers again. “No.”

  “Daddy says the shot was a diversion.”

  Something in Tiny’s expression told Penelope she’d guessed right.

  “What made you go there last night? Besides supper.”

  “I heard those two men talking during breakfast. Something about the Sit-n-Swill and a shipment. It sounded funny. Or rather, odd. Suspicious.”

  “Why didn’t you report it if you were concerned? Seems to me you have an inside track to CID downtown.”

  “Bradley would’ve blown me off the way he always does. He thinks I’m bordering on senile.”

  Tiny touched the corner of his mouth with a napkin, another careful gesture which didn’t fit his so-called biker persona. “Oh, I’d say you were a long way from the border.”

  “Thank you.” Penelope stroked Abijah under his chin, causing him to set up a raspy purring that echoed in the sudden silence.

  Tiny polished off the last biscuit, then carried his plate to the sink and rinsed it before he refilled his coffee mug and sat down again. “But don’t underestimate your son.”

  “I think he underestimates me.”

  “Isn’t that typical of adult children?”

  “It shouldn’t be.” Penelope surv
eyed the growth of stubble on his chin and decided he looked tired even after a night’s sleep. “Do you speak from experience?”

  He dropped his eyes. “Nope.” The word came out sharp but tinged with what she thought was a little wistfulness.

  Realizing she’d struck a sensitive chord with him, she changed the subject. “If you need a place to stay for a few days, the family on the third floor will be here one more night, and I’m not booked again until next week. The annual Black Walnut Cake Festival and Competition. It happens every May.”

  “I don’t need to be seen coming and going from here.”

  “Well, not in those clothes anyway.”

  “The bike’s a dead giveaway.”

  “There’s the garage. Are you trying to tell me I could be in danger if anyone knew you were here?”

  He shrugged.

  “Keep it in mind anyway. I won’t change the sheets.”

  Tiny put the empty mug in the sink on his way to the back door. “Thanks again.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Don’t forget…”

  “I’m on my way,” Penelope interrupted.

  “And stay out of that bar.”

  She nodded. “Understood.”

  “And it was pretty dumb to come looking for me at Pine Branch Creek, although I must say I’m flattered.”

  Penelope bridled at the adjective. “Don’t be. It was Daddy’s idea.”

  He laughed. “See you around maybe.”

  As soon as the door closed, Jake materialized like an actor waiting in the wings. “So what do you make of him?”

  “I don’t know, but he’s no biker. He knows Bradley some way. Says he’s a good cop.”

  “Well, that’s something in his favor. Got any breakfast for an old man?”

  “Keeping nice and warm. I made a fresh pot of coffee, too.”

  As she fixed his plate, she told him what she’d found upstairs the night before and also how Tiny came to spend the night at the B&B. “I’m going to take everything downtown and come clean with Bradley.”

  “Better let me.”