by Meg Benjamin
Helen shrugged. “Don’t know. I guess Peavey was part-time then. He probably was out on the streets too.”
“Traffic,” Ham whined. “Lots of traffic problems all weekend. We had our hands full. No time for anything else.”
Erik considered a range of possibilities for the motorcycle rally, most of them unpleasant. “So who kept track of the campground—Brody?”
“Maybe, maybe not.” Helen shrugged. “May not have been anybody keeping track of it. Campgrounds and bars sometimes run themselves around here.”
Erik tried not to jump to conclusions. Just because Brody and Morris had both been crooked didn’t mean anything had been going on at the motorcycle rally. Or would be at this one “He didn’t have anybody keeping track of what was going on in town? Making sure they didn’t have any problems?”
“I tell you, there was lots of traffic.” Ham’s face flushed to a dirty pink. “We had to look after that. Chief told us to keep a lid on it.”
Erik nodded. No way was he going to get anything useful out of Ham, and Helen didn’t seem willing to fill him in. Nando might have a better memory, but Nando hadn’t been in the department then, so it would just be what he’d heard in town.
Of course, Nando wasn’t the only one who might have heard things. Time to visit the Dew Drop.
Chapter Six
The Dew Drop was frozen in a time warp, Erik reflected. Nobody ever seemed to change their seats—or maybe he just didn’t get there often enough to see them switch around. Terrell Biedermeier still sat on the same barstool, his rear end protruding into the walking space. Ingstrom still leaned his elbows on the bar, watching a dart game in the corner. Cal and his wife Docia still sat in what had become the Toleffson booth.
For an odd moment, Erik wondered what it would be like to have a table with somebody like Morgan Barrett that he could call his. To have someone who actually looked forward to seeing him walk in. Jesus, get a grip, Toleffson.
“Evening, Chief, have a seat.” Cal grinned at him. “Rescued any more damsels in distress since I saw you yesterday?”
Erik shook his head. “Nope. Found any more poisoned goats?”
“Nope.”
Ingstrom arrived at Erik’s elbow with a glass of Dr. Pepper. “On the house?” he asked, raising a hopeful eyebrow.
Erik sighed. “Nope. Nothing’s on the house, Ingstrom. Ever.”
“My kind of lawman.” Cal lifted his bottle of Dos Equis in salute.
“Gee, you two are just loads of fun. You sound like a pair of John Wayne impersonators.” Docia waved at Ingstrom. “Bring me some more mineral water, Ingstrom. Preferably on ice.”
Docia hadn’t been coming to the Dew Drop much lately, now that her pregnancy made her take up an even larger space on the opposite bench. Erik hadn’t exactly been keeping count, but he figured she was close to eight months. She definitely seemed bigger than she’d been the last time he’d seen her, which was only a few days ago. Considering that she’d started off at six feet and a healthy size, that was saying something.
Ingstrom shook his head. “Don’t know if I have any more of that stuff. You’re the only one who drinks it. How about some iced tea?”
“Can’t do caffeine.” Docia’s lower lip jutted forward in a pout. “You have any Fresca?”
“Nope.”
Docia’s eyes narrowed. “Okay, Ingstrom, what do you have?”
Ingstrom counted off on his fingers. “7UP, Dr. Pepper, Mountain Dew and Coke.”
“Okay, 7UP.” Docia sighed. “Just buy some Topo Chico or some Perrier or something, okay? I promise I’ll drink it all.”
Ingstrom shrugged and headed back toward the bar.
Docia regarded Cal balefully. “Gee, being pregnant is fun. I’m the size of a baby whale, I can hardly walk and I can’t drink anything naughty.”
“How long now?” Erik asked.
“Five weeks and counting. I might even deliver before the Wine and Food Festival if I’m lucky.”
“After which you’ll be nursing so most of the same general rules will apply.” Cal grinned at her.
“Crap.” Docia’s lower lip stuck out farther.
“Hey, Red, you’re gorgeous. And you’re going to be a fantastic mother.” Cal put his arm around her shoulder, pulling her close. “And you’ll have lots of time to drink wine down the road.”
Pete thumped Erik on the shoulder. “Scoot over, or better yet let’s grab a table. I see more people headed our way and Docia needs all the room she can get.”
Docia narrowed her eyes at him, but Pete was already looking around for more chairs.
Erik helped him slide two tables together as Allie dropped into a chair. “Ingstrom, what wine do you have from Cedar Creek?”
Ingstrom glanced behind the bar. “Sauvignon blanc and a bottle of Morgan’s Blend.”
“We’ll take it. And a bunch of glasses.”
Cal settled Docia into a chair as Ingstrom placed a bottle and glasses on the table in front of Allie.
Erik stared at the bottle. The label had a woodcut of roses. “What’s Morgan’s Blend?”
Allie poured two glasses, pushing one toward Pete. “Morgan’s father started doing it in her honor after he sold his first year’s production. I don’t know exactly what’s in it. Ask Morgan—she might know, assuming her father told her.”
“Ask me what?” Morgan slid into the chair beside Docia. Erik had a feeling she was deliberately not looking his way.
“What’s in the wine—Morgan’s Blend?” He nodded toward the bottle, as Ingstrom plunked more glasses on the table.
Morgan glanced at him, then looked quickly at the label. Yep, definitely avoiding him.
“Syrah, merlot, cabernet franc, a little bit of sangiovese. Dad varies the proportions depending on what kind of grapes we’ve got a surplus of.” She picked up a glass and poured. “This is from four years ago when they had a lot of merlot. It’s probably mostly that.”
“Good stuff.” Allie sipped her wine, narrowing her eyes at Morgan. “Are you okay? Cal said you fell.”
“Yeah, sort of. Just a few scrapes and bruises. I’m okay.” Morgan glanced at Erik and blushed.
A woman who blushed. Over him. Would wonders never cease?
Janie breezed in the front door, followed by Wonder, creating a general realignment of bodies around the table. Somehow Erik ended up next to Morgan, feeling the warm brush of her thigh against his.
“So.” Janie poured her own glass of wine and nodded at Morgan. “You’re okay? No breaks or sprains?”
Morgan shook her head. “Just skinned hands and knees, and bruised pride. The chief here pulled me out of the gulch.”
“Erik,” he said, automatically, trying to get a glimpse of Morgan’s fathom-deep brown eyes.
Morgan blushed again, and Janie glanced at him, the corners of her mouth inching up.
Aw crap! He did not want to become another of his sisters-in-laws’ projects. The last time Janie and Docia had gone into the matchmaking business, Lars had ended up married to Jessamyn Carroll. Now, of course, Jess would be helping them try to fix Erik up. Time to get down to business. He cleared his throat quickly. “So tell me about this motorcycle rally Pittman’s got going this weekend.”
Allie and Docia groaned, Wonder grimaced, even Janie looked glum.
“What?” Pete’s brow furrowed. “I wasn’t here for the last one either. What’s the problem?”
“The motorcycle rally.” Wonder took a swallow from his glass of wine. “Begun by our illustrious mayor as a way to boost the pleasures of Konigsburg ever higher on the list of most popular tourist attractions in the state.”
“Biker tourists?” Erik tried to do a quick mental recalibration, but it didn’t work. The two words wouldn’t fit together in his mind.
“Yuppies.” Wonder’s voice was dry. “Pittman’s favorite type of tourist. Lots of money and limited good sense. Believe me, this is no outlaw biker get-together. Keep in mind, we’re talking about Konigsb
urg. We don’t hold with loud talk and riffraff.”
“Like hell we don’t,” Allie growled. “Those guys may make more in a week than I do in a month, but that doesn’t mean they don’t behave like a bunch of six-year-olds when they get on those damn bikes.”
“That’s an insult to six-year-olds everywhere.” Docia sighed, taking a sip of her 7UP. “And they do spend a lot of money.”
“Right. They’ll all come into Sweet Thing for lunch in their leathers and their bandanas with their old ladies. Only the old ladies are size zero model-types who won’t wear helmets because it messes up their hair.” Allie stared glumly at the wine bottle.
Erik frowned in confusion. “Would you rather have Bandidos or Hell’s Angels?”
“I grew up in Brownsville. I know all about Bandidos, believe me. No, what I’d really like are some grown-ups who ride because they like riding motorcycles not because they’re looking for a ten-thousand-dollar penis extension.”
The entire bar seemed to fall silent for at least ten seconds. Wonder choked on his wine.
“Nicely said.” Janie grinned at Allie.
Erik picked up his Dr. Pepper glass and hurriedly signaled to the barmaid for a refill. “So what’s the worst I can expect?”
“Drunks.” Wonder nodded decisively. “They won’t try to burn down the town or ravish the women, but they will get shit-faced at the Silver Spur or the Faro and then try to ride down Main. Or stagger down Main. Or crawl down Main. It really sets the tone for the weekend, believe me. Nothing like a few drunks puking in the city park to send the family tourists back home, and make them think twice about coming here again in the future.”
Janie grimaced. “I swear they start drinking at breakfast. Either that or they really tank up at lunch. You can’t walk down the street without seeing them by mid-afternoon.”
Erik pinched the bridge of his nose, thinking. Maybe Brody had a reason for putting two of his three cops on traffic patrol, but at least one of them should also have been picking up the staggerers and stowing them in a cell. He’d have to figure out some way to police both the traffic and the drunks.
Docia groaned. “That’s another thing—riding down Main. You can’t believe the amount of noise these guys make.”
“Because, of course, all of them have the biggest bikes they can buy.” Allie splashed more wine into her glass. “This wine is really good, Morgan. Did I forget to tell you that?”
“Like thunder,” Wonder muttered. “Chrome-plated thunder, that is.”
Pete looked slightly dazed. “The wine?”
“The noise. Chrome-plated thunder is right. If you look at one of those babies in the sunlight, you’re likely to go blind.” Docia took a final swallow of her 7UP.
“Three hundred bikers, according to Pittman.” Allie’s lips became a thin line. “All of them riding down Main, flat out. Day and night. No conversations for three days. And no driving the highways unless you want to become part of an obstacle course for some idiot going eighty on a 500-pound bike.”
“They do buy a lot of wine,” Morgan mused. “They come out to the tasting room and load up. But we get drunks too. Ciro has Esteban hang around the patio to keep them in line. They also complain. Constantly.”
“About what?” Erik watched her face. The spray of freckles across her nose. The way her lower lip protruded slightly. Unbelievably, he felt his groin tighten. Fantastic timing. Control, Toleffson, control.
Morgan shrugged. “In our case, they complain about the dirt road. They don’t like the bumps or the washboard. One guy told me he’d only come back if we graded the road to the tasting room.”
“They can’t handle dirt roads?” Erik pictured the bike riders in Lander, Iowa, sliding down the hillsides in clouds of dust. But those had been dirt bikes, not big, chrome-plated monsters. Still, what kind of biker complained about dirt roads?
“They also don’t like rain, mud or potholes. Nothing that might smudge the finish. Getting a feel for it now, Chief?” Wonder grinned.
Erik nodded. “Not The Wild Ones.”
“Nope. Forget Brando.” Docia counted off on her fingers. “Forget Easy Rider. Forget Peter Fonda on any form of bike in any movie you can remember. Forget Dennis Hopper. Forget Steve McQueen. Forget any visions of big hunky males on king-sized hogs.” Her gaze darted to Cal for a moment, and she grinned. “Present company excepted, of course.”
Janie grinned too. Morgan suddenly became fascinated by the label on her wine bottle.
“Why the interest?” Cal tipped back his Dos Equis. “You gathering the troops?”
“Just trying to be prepared.” Erik took another sip of Dr. Pepper, willing his body to settle down. “Since I’ve only got three officers, I need to figure out how to spread them around to take care of three hundred bikers.” He ran through his mental checklist—drunks, noise, reckless driving on the highway.
Oh, a really fun weekend was coming up here.
Wonder frowned. “I guess Linklatter counts as a police officer. Personally, I’d deploy him as a speed bump.”
“Ham’s not so bad,” Allie said. “You just have to tell him exactly what you want him to do.”
“Sounds like you’ve got your work cut out for you, Chief.” Pete poured himself another glass of wine. “Any established policies to fall back on?”
Erik shrugged. “Olema never had to deal with them—he wasn’t here long enough. From what I hear, Brody didn’t have any problems. Or none he talked about.”
The table suddenly fell silent. Cal’s face was dark as he stretched his arm around Docia’s shoulders.
She put her hand on his knee, smiling gently. “It’s okay, you know. His name doesn’t make me break out in a cold sweat.”
“Decent of you, given that the SOB tried to drown you,” Wonder muttered.
Cal’s mouth was a thin line. “You can’t be sure of anything about Brody. Even now I don’t think we know all the things he was up to when he was chief.”
“Well, he didn’t do much with the bikers.” Morgan ran her finger down the side of her glass. “I don’t even remember any drunks getting arrested the last time they were here. Ciro and Esteban took care of getting them off our property. I’ll bet Hilton was ecstatic that nobody got picked up, seeing as how the whole rally was his idea. Arrests tend to make people feel unwelcome, you know.”
“With Brody’s leftovers, you’re always waiting for the other shoe to drop.” Wonder drained the last drops of his wine. “I wouldn’t get too comfortable if I were you, Chief.”
“Believe me, I’m not.” Erik shifted his body so that his still-hardened groin was in a slightly less visible position. Just then the last thing he was thinking about was comfort.
Morgan followed Allie and Wonder out the door of the Dew Drop, trying not to show that she was aware of Erik Toleffson behind her. She hadn’t felt this self-conscious around a male since middle school. Come to think of it, Erik Toleffson bore a certain resemblance to Brent Peters, the object of her affections in eighth grade.
All the Toleffsons were gorgeous—it was a well-known Konigsburg fact. Tall, broad, dark hair and eyes, killer smiles. Like every other Konigsburg female, she’d perked up when Cal had joined Horace Rankin’s veterinary clinic, but he’d taken one look at Docia and been a goner. Then Pete had come to town for Cal’s wedding and fallen hard for Janie Dupree almost before anyone else had had a chance at him. Lars had moved himself and his daughter down the following year, and lots of Konigsburg women had suddenly developed a need for a really good accountant, but he’d taken up with his babysitter, Jess Carroll, and married her a few months ago.
That left Erik. Nobody seemed to be rushing to catch him, even though he was just as handsome as his brothers. Maybe because he was both handsome and sort of, well, scary.
That kiss last night hadn’t been scary, though. Just hot.
She took a deep breath, feeling the warm evening air fold around her like a blanket. Steady, Morgan. As she turned left, she fou
nd that Erik had fallen into step beside her.
“Thought I’d get some dinner.” One end of his mouth edged up in a lopsided smile. “Care to join me?”
Beside her, a cast-iron streetlight had switched on, casting a warm glow in the twilight. “Sure.” The word came out a little more breathy than she’d intended.
Steady, for god’s sake!
“What’s your favorite place?” Erik asked.
“Let me think.” Morgan folded her arms across her chest as she walked so that she wouldn’t bump into him. Although, in reality, bumping into him didn’t sound bad at all. “I need to go to Brenner’s, if that’s okay. I’ve got to talk to Ken about a wine shipment anyway.”
“Which one is Ken?”
Morgan might have imagined that slight edge to his voice. Or maybe not. “The sommelier. He and Lee, the chef, own the restaurant. They’re major customers at Cedar Creek, and the restaurant’s so popular it’s good for our business.” She didn’t bother explaining that Ken and Lee were partners in more than just the restaurant. He’d been here for a couple of years—he should know that already.
“I know Lee. I guess I know Ken, too, by sight anyway. The redhead, right?”
“Right.”
The lights were already lowered at Brenner’s. Candle lanterns gleamed on the tables, illuminating the pale mauve tablecloths. For a moment, Morgan stood in the doorway, drinking in the essence of Konigsburg.
“Morgan, sweetheart, welcome! I don’t suppose you brought a case of primitivo with you.” Ken hurried across the dining room and hugged her enthusiastically, his slightly plump face stretched in a broad grin.
“Oh, I’m sorry, no. We haven’t released the new vintage yet.” A band of tension began to stretch across her shoulders. Again. Her father was the one who’d have to decide about the release date for the wine with Ciro’s recommendation. Another thing she wasn’t authorized to do.
Ken frowned. “Honey, we get requests for it every night. People have loved it ever since we put it on the menu, and they get pretty annoyed when we don’t have any. If we can’t get more soon, we may have to take it off the wine list.”