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

by Charbonneau, Joelle

  When we reached my apartment door, the girls waited for me to go inside before hurrying back to their patrol of the parking lot perimeter. The president of the United States had the Secret Service. I had girls wearing faux satin. There was no contest. I’d take my protection detail over his any day.

  I sagged against the door. Not only was I tired, I hurt. I needed medication, a long, hot bath, and twelve hours in which I didn’t think about thefts, murders, Danielle’s wedding, or my less than stable love life. One night with no stress. Was that too much to ask?

  As I kicked off my shoes, I spotted a small white box with a jaunty silver bow atop my coffee table and smiled. Pop must have left me a get-well gift. Feeling happier than I had in the last week, I pried open the lid and dug through the paper.

  Ouch. A dot of blood bloomed on my index finger. Just what I needed. Another injury. After setting the box on the table, I yanked the tissue paper out of the box to reveal the contents—and went completely still. Sitting in the middle of the box was a syringe tied with a shiny red ribbon. Attached to the ribbon was a note that read KEEP OUT OR YOU’RE NEXT.

  Pop hadn’t left me a gift. Ginny’s killer had.

  Eighteen

  I sucked in air. My heart skidded in my chest and then picked up speed. Ginny’s murderer had been in my home. My life had just been threatened for the second time this week.

  During my hospital convalescence, I’d decided the driver of the car was reacting to my investigating the thefts. Knowing someone had tried to run me over was scary, but I’d dulled the fear with the knowledge that the perp was a thief. Not a killer. Now I was prepared to panic.

  “Hey, are you okay?”

  I jumped, turned, and went flying as my foot hooked on the bottom of the chair. Oof. I narrowly avoided smacking my head on the coffee table and hit the carpet with a thud. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch.

  “Wow, I didn’t mean to freak you out. I thought you heard me come in.” Jasmine grabbed me by the waist and hauled me to my feet. “Some of the band guys dropped me off on their way home. Your grandfather stayed behind to party with the Hat Queen. That man is a force. You should’ve seen the way the women threw their clothing at him.”

  No. I was already teetering on the edge. Seeing that would have sent me right over.

  “Your grandfather wants me to consider joining the act.”

  “Can you sing?” I asked, ignoring the potential instrument of death taunting me from five feet away.

  Jasmine grinned. “Not well, but that doesn’t stop your grandfather.” She looked down at the table and raised an eyebrow. “What’s with the needle?”

  “It’s, er, um,” I said cleverly.

  She picked up the box. “It’s kind of creepy with the bow and the … holy shit.” Jasmine’s smile and carefree attitude disappeared. “Where did you get this? Who gave this to you? First you get run over by a car, and now this? What kind of town are you living in?”

  All good questions. I wished I had equally good answers.

  “The box was waiting for me when I got home. I was just about to call Deputy Holmes when you came in.” The last part probably would have been true had my mind been capable of thought. To prove my ability to function like a normal human being, I got out my phone and dialed. Five minutes later, Sean walked through the door looking disheveled and more than a little dangerous.

  “You figure Ginny’s killer left this for you?” he asked, looking up from the note.

  I nodded, swallowed hard, and tried to channel Wonder Woman. Nothing scared her, not even riding in an invisible plane.

  “Was the front door locked?”

  I thought back to walking up the stairs. The derby girls were talking as I let myself inside. I’d had the keys in my hand, but did I use them to get in? I was pretty sure I did. If not, one of the derby girls would have noticed and said something.

  Sean examined the door and then checked every window in the place. All the windows were locked. There was no sign of forced entry. The murderer either could walk through walls or had a key. I wasn’t fond of either option.

  While Jasmine babbled about thinking she’d left this kind of crime behind, Sean did his cop impersonation. He asked for the exact location where I’d found the box, my whereabouts for the day, and anything I might have done to prompt this latest threat. I gave Sean my itinerary without embellishing on the details. No reason to confess to tree climbing and puppy payoffs if I didn’t have to. From his expression, Sean knew there was more to my story than outdoor property surveys and muffins, but he didn’t call me on it. I guess he figured I was beat up enough.

  When he closed his cop book, I asked, “Is there any way I can convince you to keep this to yourself?” The last thing I needed was Lionel hitting the roof or the derby girls building bunkers in the parking lot.

  Sean glanced at Jasmine then back at me. “Can we speak in private?”

  Jasmine stopped her crime-is-everywhere monologue and plopped her hands on her hips. “Rebecca and I don’t have secrets from each other. Whatever you have to say can be said in front of me. Right, Rebecca?”

  Um … Jasmine was fun. She was feisty and loyal and about as subtle as a rampaging cow in … well, just about anywhere. If Sean wanted something kept secret, he had better say it out of Jasmine’s hearing.

  Pulling Jasmine into the kitchen, I said, “Sean doesn’t discuss open cases in front of civilians. The only reason he’s talking to me is because I’ve been hired by one of the victims.”

  She glared in Sean’s direction and blew hair off her forehead. “I guess that makes sense. But I want a full report after he leaves.”

  Jasmine grabbed the remote and plopped onto the couch. Then I nodded for Sean to follow and walked down the hall to my room.

  I closed the door behind us and Sean asked, “Did anything else happen today that I need to know about?”

  I bit my lip, and Sean sighed.

  “Okay,” he said. “The only way to keep you safe is if I know what’s going on. So let’s do this. For the next few minutes, I’m going to pretend I don’t have a badge. Tell me.”

  To his credit, Sean didn’t yell or stomp or turn various shades of red. He just listened as I confessed to balancing on tree branches and throwing bacon-flavored confetti. His voice was calm when he asked, “Did you find anything in the Kurtz house to help the investigation?”

  A picture of Seth and Jan behind bars popped into my head. “Are you still pretending not to be a cop?”

  Sean closed his eyes. He took two deep breaths and then opened them. “Consider me Joe Civilian.”

  “Good.” Before Sean could change his mind, I told him about Seth and Jan’s basement business.

  “Seth and Jan are in their seventies.”

  “I guess they found a way to supplement their Social Security.” An ingenious, albeit illegal, way. “Those plants could be the reason the thefts began. We just have to figure out who knew about them and wanted a piece of the action badly enough to risk arrest.”

  Sean pursed his lips, walked across the room, and stared out the window.

  “You think my theory sucks.”

  He turned. “I think it’s the best lead the department has had since the robberies started.” He smiled. “For the record, I still plan on taking credit once the perpetrator is caught.”

  I rolled my eyes. “So now what?”

  “Now I run down the people Seth might have told about his basement crop. With a little luck, we’ll catch the robber in the next day or two.”

  Hearing him say “we” would catch the crook made me smile. Then again, I noticed that, while he gave me credit, he didn’t give me an assignment. “What should I do?”

  “Stay safe.” Sean held up a hand. “I’m not saying you should barricade yourself inside this place, although I’d suggest it if I thought there was a chance in hell you’d listen. Instead, I’ll settle for a promise that you won’t go anywhere by yourself. The killer will think twice about attacking if you have som
eone sleeping here at night and going around town with you. I’m sure Lionel will be happy to volunteer for the job.”

  “Happy” wouldn’t come close to covering Lionel’s emotional state if he heard about this most recent threat.

  Sean must have guessed my thoughts since he added, “I’d volunteer, but I’m not the one spending time in your bed. Although I wouldn’t say no if circumstances changed.”

  I waited for Sean to laugh or smirk, but he didn’t look amused. Sean wasn’t having fun at my expense. Sean was serious.

  Gulp.

  Suddenly, I became very aware of my surroundings. Closed door. Fluffy bed. Sean stepped toward me as though he intended to make use of both. My heart swooped. My palms sweated. If this was a move designed to make me uncomfortable, it worked.

  “I like Lionel,” Sean said. “I respect him. More important, I respect you. Which is why I’m not going to make your life more difficult than it already is by acting on what I feel. But if you decide Lionel isn’t the guy for you…”

  Sean raised his hand and lifted my chin. Nerves, fear, and—holy crap—a strange kind of attraction jangled my stomach as I waited for him to kiss me.

  He didn’t. He ran a thumb along my jaw and said, “I’d be interested in seeing what kind of sparks would fly if we explored being more than friends.” Dropping his hand, he turned toward the door. “Keep someone with you at all times, Rebecca. If you don’t, I’ll have to assume you want me to handle the job personally.”

  Eek!

  Sean walked out the door, and I sat on the bed. I heard Jasmine shout good-bye, followed by the front door closing. Sean was gone. Part of me wasn’t sure I’d wanted him to go.

  All the pain must have caused a severe chemical imbalance. Hell, I’d probably hallucinated everything that just happened. Sean couldn’t be interested in dating me. He got his kicks from yelling and yanking my chain. If I were being truthful, I’d admit I was also entertained by our skirmishes. Sean kept me on my toes whether I wanted him to or not. I’d thought of him as the annoying, know-it-all big brother who made me want to stick out my tongue. Now …

  I pressed my hand to my stomach and took several deep breaths. The way my insides were jumping made me feel very adult and more than a little stupid. Sean and I were friends on the best days and combatants on the worst. Lionel, however, was smart, sexy, and kind to both people and animals. He was everything I wanted in a man. The only reason I was reacting to Sean now was because he’d taken me by surprise. The suggestion the two of us would in any scenario make a good couple was laughable. Sean and I would forget this conversation happened, and life would continue as it was supposed to. Me with Lionel, and Sean … well, Sean would be Sean. End of story.

  A quick call told me Lionel’s llama issue was more complicated than originally anticipated. Thank goodness Jasmine was delighted to take up residence in the guest room and to be my shadow for the next several days.

  “Aren’t your parents going to be upset you haven’t come home?” I asked.

  “Nah. I wasn’t sure what my plans were, so I didn’t give then a specific date of arrival. I’m happy to bodyguard for as long as you need me.”

  Fun times.

  Despite the upheaval in my life, I slept like the dead. When I woke, I glanced at the clock and sighed. I’d missed church services. I’d never win awards for my faithful attendance, but this week I’d promised Danielle I’d be at St. Mark’s in order to listen to Rich’s final sermon as an unmarried man.

  I sent a text to Danielle apologizing for oversleeping. She sent back DON’T WORRY ABOUT IT. Then she sent a reminder about the errands I’d promised to take part in this week. Then she sent WE NEED TABLE FAVORS. NOW.

  Damn. I’d forgotten about the favors. Between solving favor problems, visiting the florist and caterer, decorating the hall, and going to the rehearsal dinner on Wednesday, let alone grocery shopping and cooking for Thanksgiving, there wasn’t going to be much time left in my schedule for investigating. I had to get a jump on it now.

  My aching body protested as I hopped out of bed, grabbed my purse, and tiptoed down the hall to the extra bedroom I used as a home office. I longed for coffee and a bagel as the computer booted up, but I stayed put. If Jasmine knew I was awake, she’d want to help. My friend had lots of fabulous qualities, but being sneaky was not one of them.

  TV cops were always talking about motive, means, and opportunity when investigating murders. Since they managed to capture their perps in less than sixty minutes, I decided to take my cue from them and did a search on the murder weapon to see how hard it was to obtain insulin without a prescription.

  Yikes. Not hard. Though many types of insulin were obtained by prescription, several older versions were available over the counter. So much for narrowing my search.

  And so much for focusing on means. Maybe I’d get further on motive. As far as I could tell, the only hint of motive lay in the numbers and letters Ginny had recorded on the teapot note. Flipping to that page in my notebook, I studied them and hoped for an epiphany.

  Nothing. So much for wishing the medication affected not only pain but also my extrasensory abilities. Since I wasn’t qualified to answer phones for the Psychic Friends network, I flipped back through my notes and read from start to finish. By the time I got to the end, I was just as baffled and more than a little disheartened. When I walked into Ginny’s wake tonight, her family was going to ask if I was any closer to catching the killer. I was going to have to tell them no. Maybe it was time to admit I wasn’t a real investigator and give up.

  I threw my notebook on the desk and swore as it knocked over a picture frame. After setting the picture upright, I studied the photograph. It was a picture of my mother and me. The photograph was taken when I was sixteen, after my last meet as a solo artistic skater. I’d taken second, which wasn’t bad considering how frustrated I’d been during my practice session. A double toe loop combination that I’d typically done with ease had given me fits. Bad landings, falls, and aborted jumps plagued me as I practiced the maneuver again and again. To no avail. I was about to throw in the towel when my mother told me to start the routine over. To go back to the beginning and figure out where I’d gone wrong.

  Wait a minute. I grabbed my notebook and headed for the door. I knew what I had to do. I needed to go back to the beginning and determine what Ginny had been doing and who she had seen in the minutes leading up to her death. It was time to pay a visit to the scene of the crime.

  Nineteen

  Senior center activities were kept to a minimum on Sunday afternoons in deference to the population’s need for after-church eggs, bacon, and hand-dipped milkshakes at the diner. I guess they believed attending services gave them special dispensation for cholesterol and calories. The few who hadn’t attended church or didn’t believe in the miracle of divine diet intervention were watching football in the same television room where Ginny had taken her last breath.

  Jasmine started to go inside, but I shook my head. “Not yet. We have a reenactment to perform.”

  Taking slow steps, I walked down the hallway to the recreation room where Danielle’s shower had been held. It took a minute and a half at most to cover that ground and just over that time to walk from the crime scene to the covered walkway or the front door. Those were the three most-used entrances to the building and the ones most likely utilized by the killer.

  “I bet the murderer used this door.” Jasmine pointed to an exit on the opposite side of the building from the parking lot. “Then he could get in and out without being seen.”

  “It’s for emergency exit only.” I pointed to a sign warning an alarm would sound if used.

  “Those signs are all phony,” Jasmine said. “People in the city use them all the time to make people think twice about—”

  Before I could stop her, Jasmine pushed open the door. A loud siren whooped and wailed. “Huh.” Jasmine plugged her ears and yelled, “I guess that’s another difference between this place and C
hicago. The signs mean what they say.”

  It took fifteen minutes before someone shut off the alarm. In the meantime, people who couldn’t turn off their hearing aids went next door to watch the game, which gave Jasmine and me free rein to look around the room where Ginny had died. The game was still on the television. Jasmine cheered for a field goal while I walked to the chair where Ginny had been seated.

  The heavy blue chair was designed with a high back and stuffed armrests and was angled toward the television. A person seated in the chair should spot, in her peripheral vision, anyone coming into the room through the lone door. I could test that theory, but I wasn’t keen about sitting in a chair where someone had died. Things were dangerous enough in my life. There was no need to tempt fate.

  I positioned myself next to the chair, squatted so I was at the same level as someone sitting, and asked Jasmine to tear herself from the game long enough to walk through the door. Yep. Even with my eyes glued to the television set, I saw Jasmine sashay into the room. Unless Ginny had been sleeping, she saw her killer approach. Since there weren’t any signs of a struggle, I had to believe Ginny assumed she had nothing to worry about when the other person pulled out a syringe.

  My research said a person could fall into a coma within ten to thirty minutes of the overdose and potentially slip into death sometime after that if nothing was done to counteract the drop in blood sugar. Sometimes death was known to take even longer. Not exactly the most efficient way to kill someone. So why use it? And how? Even if Ginny was friends with her attacker, she wasn’t going to sit still while they jabbed her with a sharp, pointy object. Friends just don’t let friends do that.

  Maybe Ginny was like Pop and took catnaps during the day. A sleeping Ginny wouldn’t have noticed her attacker or the syringe. However, even in his deepest sleep, Pop would notice if someone stuck him with a needle. Once he clocked the perpetrator, he’d call Doc Truman for help. Since Ginny did neither, I had to assume she’d been oblivious to the problem. Why?