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

by Charbonneau, Joelle

  So would wearing matching socks. “Aside from getting Jimmy a gold medal, how do we get the protest planners to stand down?”

  Pop shrugged. “I could get Ethel drunk and have her make a couple calls. She’s got a thing for White Russians.”

  Good to know. “Any other ideas that don’t require liquor?”

  “Maybe. Let me make a few phone calls and see what I can do.”

  Pop pulled out his phone and started dialing. When his voice dropped an octave and got all husky, I cleared out. Pop deserved a love life. I just didn’t want to experience it firsthand.

  A couple of George’s new artistic skaters were practicing spins while the rest of the crowd boogied to “Jump, Jive, an’ Wail.” George was standing on the sidelines, talking to Jasmine while keeping an eye on his students. I was about to join them when my cell phone vibrated. Amy Jo Boggs was calling.

  Since the decibel level was cranked to oh-my-God and my grandfather was using my office to do his impersonation of Barry White, I headed for the quiet of the parking lot to answer the phone.

  “I got your message. Sorry it took me so long to call back. The people from the adoption agency called, and when they heard about Aunt Ginny being murdered…” Amy Jo sighed. “Well, there is now some question as to the stability of our family. Which is why I’m hoping you might have news.”

  Yikes. Poor Amy Jo and Mark. I’d heard adoption was tricky, but it had never occurred to me that having a family member murdered would derail the process.

  Wishing I had better news to convey, I gave her a rundown on my foray into Aunt Ginny’s apartment, including my discovery of the nine thousand dollars Ginny paid for a condo rental. “I also found a piece of paper taped to her teapot. The paper had a series of letters written on it. I was hoping they might mean something to you.” Shivering, I pulled out the slip of paper and squinted at the writing.

  Damn.

  One of the worst things about the onset of winter was how early it got dark. I moved closer to one of the parking lot lights and read the series of letters to Amy Jo, who then repeated them to her husband. While the two debated what the letters meant, I looked for a place to get out of the cold without bailing on the phone call. Being outside without a coat was not one of my better ideas.

  My apartment door was locked, and the key was currently nestled in my coat pocket, but the door to the stairway was open. Being out of the wind would be an improvement over my current situation. The cold air was starting to chap my lips. While Mark and Amy Jo debated which family members might know what the letters meant, I headed across the parking lot.

  The wind gusted. I put my head down to keep the worst of the cold off my face, which was probably why I didn’t see the headlights barreling toward me until it was too late.

  Fourteen

  Tires squealed. An engine roared. White lights raced toward me. I did the only thing I could think to do. I let out a scream and ran.

  Shit. My hip sang as metal struck bone. Suddenly, I was airborne. Then I wasn’t. Shit. Shit. Shit.

  My phone flew out of my hand as I skidded across concrete and smacked into the rink’s brick wall. Pain bloomed in my leg, my arm, and my chin.

  Car tires peeled rubber. Pain swirled in my stomach. The world swooped in and out of focus as I scrambled to my feet and limped for my apartment’s entrance, hoping to avoid another run-in or—worse yet—death.

  Heart slamming, I reached the doorway and then turned in time to see taillights disappear down the block.

  The good news was I was alive. The bad news was I could barely stand. The adrenaline that had helped get me up and moving had faded. The only thing left was numb terror.

  My legs trembled. My knees buckled. I grabbed the door frame for support and fought to breathe.

  Tears pricked the back of my eyes, and I squinted around the parking lot for signs of my phone. Someone had just tried to kill me. I needed to call for help. I needed to call Sean.

  To do that, I needed my damn phone, and it was nowhere in sight.

  “Hey, Rebecca. Are you all right?” a girl yelled from near the front of the building. I squinted into the darkness at the familiar voice and saw one of my best high school employees, Brittany, waiting for me to answer.

  I started to lie, to yell that everything was fine. Saying that I was hurt would just scare her. Hell, it would scare me. The car and driver were already gone. There was no reason to freak either of us out more than necessary. Right?

  The world swam in and out of focus. My fingers lost their grip on the door. As the pavement grew closer, I yelled, “Call Sean Holmes.”

  Then everything went black.

  *

  “Rebecca? Hey, Rebecca. Sweetheart, it’s time to wake up now.”

  My eyes felt like they were glued shut. After several tries, I managed to open them and was immediately sorry that I had. There’s nothing more humiliating than waking up with people staring at you. Especially when those people include both my father and Deputy Sean Holmes.

  “Hey, there’s those beautiful eyes.” My father’s face hovered inches from mine. I could see my grandfather’s face peering over Stan’s left shoulder. All around me buzzed the murmur of conversations.

  “You gave us quite a scare.” Stan gave me a strained smile. “How are you feeling, sweetheart?”

  Claustrophobic. On top of that, every part of my body ached and several parts, including my head, screamed with pain. Through the haze of agony, I did notice that someone had thrown a blanket over me, which meant I wasn’t cold. That was something.

  Before I could answer my father’s question, Doc Truman’s concern-lined face hovered overhead. “If you would all please back off, I need to treat my patient.”

  Stan and my grandfather disappeared. Sean didn’t budge.

  Giving Sean a frown, Doc turned back to me. “You’ve got a couple of bad scrapes, a dislocated shoulder, and a possible concussion.”

  Well, that explained the headache.

  Doc stroked the top of my head. “Sean is going to talk to you for a minute. Then Warren and Chuck are going to take you for a ride to the hospital, where I can do a more thorough examination and treat your injuries. I can’t give you anything for the pain until I run some tests and know for sure what I’m dealing with. And don’t even think about giving me any lip about going to the hospital. Your mother would want you to do exactly as I say.”

  I hated hospitals. When I was seven, I came down with a case of pneumonia. My mother promised me I’d be in and out of the hospital in a matter of hours. They kept me six days. During that time, I tried to stage four separate escape missions and ended up being strapped to my hospital bed every time my mother left the room. The minute the doctors discharged me, I vowed never to step back into a hospital again. I’d had to break that pledge over the years, but I was never happy about it. The last time … well, the look of sympathy in Doc’s eyes told me he remembered my most recent trip to that facility and the good-bye I had to say there. Going back to the place where Mom died wasn’t what I wanted to do, but Doc wouldn’t make me go if it wasn’t necessary. Besides, I was more resourceful now than when I was seven. If I needed to, I’d find a way to break out.

  “Are you sure you can’t give me drugs before I talk to Sean? Or maybe a bottle of wine?” I asked.

  Doc grinned. “No, but I can give you some water.”

  Whoopee!

  Doc carefully shifted the gurney I was on into a semiseated position so I could take a drink. The cool water soothed my throat, but I still found myself wishing for something that could take the edge off the pain. Especially when Sean got out his notebook and started asking questions.

  “Can you tell me what you remember?”

  I tried. Unfortunately, other than being clipped by a car, I was fuzzy on the details.

  “Did you see what kind of car it was?”

  “No.”

  “Did you recognize the driver?”

  “I didn’t see the driver.
All I saw was headlights.”

  “How fast was the car going?”

  “I don’t know.” I remembered the roar of the engine gunning and the sound of rubber squealing on the pavement. Fear rammed into my stomach as understanding hit home. “This wasn’t an accident.” I choked on the words and had to repeat them. “The car hitting me wasn’t an accident. The driver hit the gas when I came into view. Someone tried to kill me.”

  The murmur of voices grew louder. I guess my words had traveled farther than I’d intended.

  “I know.” Anger stormed in Sean’s eyes. “And I plan to track down the person who did it and make sure they pay.”

  Wow. For the first time in recent memory, Sean looked ready to throttle someone with his bare hands and it wasn’t me.

  “Have you received any threats lately?” Sean’s voice was calm despite the pulsating vein in his neck. “You’ve been looking into the thefts and Ginny’s murder.”

  “You think my granddaughter provoked someone into running her down?” Pop pushed his way past Stan and stormed over to Sean. “This wouldn’t have happened if you and the sheriff were equipped to do your jobs. Julie Johnson would never have needed someone to track down the thief. She wouldn’t have hired Rebecca. My granddaughter wouldn’t have almost just died.”

  “Pop.” I struggled to sit upright. My body screamed. The world’s axis shifted, and I lay back down. Note to self: Quick movements were a very bad idea. “Pop.” Very slowly, I reached out and took my grandfather’s hand. “This isn’t Sean’s fault. It isn’t mine, and it isn’t yours.”

  Pop’s fingers tightened on mine. “But—”

  “No buts.” I smiled. Ouch. Even smiling hurt. “Sean’s going to look for the person who hit me, and I’m going to the hospital to get drugs.”

  In fact, once the medication took the edge off reality, being confined to a hospital room didn’t bother me much. In effect, part of me knew I’d soon yearn to tunnel out of the place with a spork, the beaten and bruised part of me was happy to have a safe place to hide.

  It wasn’t until I was starting to drift in and out of sleep that Lionel’s face appeared next to my bedside. His hair was disheveled, and his green eyes were shadowed with concern. His smile was warm and filled me with a happy glow. Or maybe that was the drugs. It was hard to tell.

  “I tried to call,” I said. “Pop let me use his phone. He says mine was run over by Sean’s cruiser.”

  “I know.” Lionel ran a hand lightly down my cheek. “I was checking out a rash on one of Mrs. Riley’s steers when the call came in. By the time I called back, it sounded like your grandfather was in the middle of some kind of party. I did manage to learn that you were in the process of getting a CT scan.” Lionel laced his fingers through mine and sat on the edge of the bed. “So what’s the final verdict? Is your head as hard as we all think it is?”

  “Harder.” I smiled. “I have a mild concussion, and my right shoulder is going to be pissed that I used it to cushion my fall, but Doc Truman said I should be up and running in another day or two.”

  “Let’s keep the running to a minimum.”

  I gave him a smile as a wave of fatigue hit. “No promises.”

  The last thing I remembered was Lionel kissing me on the lips and whispering that he loved me. For the first time those words made me feel safe instead of scared.

  *

  For some reason, I’d believed recuperating in a hospital would be boring. Wow, was I wrong. Starting with the night nurse, who woke me up at midnight to tell me she was taking over my care, a steady parade of people came and went from my room. When morning came, the numbers increased. The Toe Stop staff, Stan, Annette, and Jasmine all made appearances. George assured me he would take care of the rink, and Jasmine volunteered to take a few shifts if necessary. She was going to stay in town to help me once I got out of the hospital on Friday. Pop was letting her bunk at his place until I was sprung. I was also visited by a bunch of my mother’s friends, Betsy Moore, Bryan, Pastor Rich, and my grandfather, who was sporting a black pompadour wig and a dark blue satin jumpsuit with gold spangles.

  “I thought I’d do my act and spread some holiday cheer in some of the hospital wards.”

  To demonstrate, Pop smacked PLAY on his CD player and began belting out “It’s Now or Never,” effectively drowning out the bings and beeps of the machines in my room. Here was hoping the equipment on other floors made louder noises, or there could be trouble.

  When Pop headed out to do his holiday floor show, Halle, Erica, and Mary strolled in. The trio had gotten sprung last night after Sean received a call from Marjorie informing him that the protest had been moved to city hall and the camera crews rerouted. The curling committee was going to get its fifteen minutes of fame. Now the members of EstroGenocide were carrying large coffee cups and a take-out bag from the Hunger Paynes Diner. One sniff told me the bag contained Mabel’s famous meat loaf sandwich and the diner’s signature peanut-oil fries. The girls gave Pop high fives and told him not to worry. They were going to be here to protect me in case the driver from last night made an appearance.

  Oh boy!

  Lucky for me, Erica had brought her laptop, and Halle and Mary were excited to have an excuse to watch the afternoon talk shows, so I was able to eat the meat loaf sandwich and take a nap in relative peace. By the next day, my bodyguard was down to one and my head had stopped aching. Hurrah.

  Now I just needed to get out of the backless nightgown and life would return to normal. And it better happen soon or I’d go nuts.

  Thankfully, by the time I came out of the shower I was finally cleared to take on my own, Erina informed me, “Doc Truman stopped by. He said you’d be released tomorrow morning. Your grandfather said he’d be back later. A couple of patients in the children’s ward weren’t big fans of the King or tapioca pudding, but they had good aim.”

  Poor Pop. “Was he upset?”

  “Nah.” Erica smiled. “He’s going to keep coming back until they can sing every word of ‘Don’t Be Cruel’ or they get well. Whichever comes first.”

  Something told me there were going to be a lot of kids feeling better really soon.

  “Since your grandfather’s going to be busy singing and dancing, I told him I’d drive you home when Doc Truman gave you the all clear. We have our final fittings scheduled for the afternoon, but Tilly said she could reschedule for Saturday if you aren’t feeling up to it.”

  Tilly treating my already injured body like a pincushion was the last thing I wanted to do tomorrow. However, with the wedding a week away, I owed it to Danielle and Rich to try to keep the appointment.

  Hey. Wait a minute. Between the painkillers and the parade of visitors, I’d overlooked the fact that Danielle had yet to stop by. Rich had, but Danielle hadn’t been anywhere in sight. Now that I had noticed, I was bummed. Yes, Danielle was busy with work and wedding stuff, and I was sure the mother-in-law from hell arriving a week early hadn’t been easy to deal with. Still, I was supposed to be one of her best friends. You’d think I’d rate a drive-by visit or at the very least a phone call or text.

  *

  I was still sulking the next afternoon when Doc Truman finally signed my discharge papers and gave me a sling to wear and a fistful of prescriptions to have filled. I shoved the sling in my purse and, despite her recent arrest, had Erica make a beeline for the drugstore. The pharmacists watched Erica like a hawk while ringing up my order and even trailed after us when we walked to the door. Once we reached Nothing Borrowed Nothing Blue, I popped two pills, slowly eased out of the car, grabbed my bag Erica picked up for me with the appropriate undergarments and shoes, and hobbled inside.

  “What are you doing here?” Danielle gasped as a tinkling bell announced my arrival.

  I gave her my best it-looks-way-worse-than-it-feels smile and winced. The smile would be easier to pull off when the meds kicked in. “Doc says the bruising on my chin will fade by next week. If it doesn’t, Annette vows she’ll perform magic w
ith her trusty bag of cosmetics.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” Danielle looked toward the front door and then back at me. “I mean…” She swallowed hard and whispered, “What are you doing here? Rich said he visited you in the hospital. He said he talked to you.”

  “He did,” I assured her. “He even brought me flowers and a dozen of Mrs. DiBelka’s chocolate éclairs. You’ve picked a winner. I guess he forgot to tell you that I promised not to eat the entire box of éclairs or in any way jeopardize fitting into my maid of honor gown. The last thing you need is to be worrying about the zipper not going up on my dress.”

  “You don’t … he didn’t…” Danielle let out a loud sigh. “I asked Rich to tell you that you shouldn’t worry about the wedding. That you should focus on resting and getting better and—”

  “You’re firing me?” Being hit by a car was less painful.

  “No.” Danielle glanced toward the entrance again. “But I thought … it’s just that … Mother Lucas thought you might be uncomfortable having photographs taken of you with bruises on your arms and face. She also said that maybe you’d be nervous about going out in public until the person responsible has been caught.”

  I glanced over to see what was so fascinating outside and spotted Mother Lucas standing on the sidewalk across the street.

  “You’re firing me.” Okay, now I was starting to get angry. Mother Lucas had questioned Sinbad about me, threatened me, and now convinced my best friend to ditch me.

  Did I want to go traipsing down the aisle of St. Mark’s in a dress that made me look like Barbie’s less fortunately endowed second cousin? No, but I wanted to support my friend. My friend who at this moment was wringing her hands and sending terrified glances in Mother Lucas’s direction. Danielle wasn’t easy to freak out, but I’d been scared of Rich’s mother, too, when she showed up in my apartment.