Skating Around The Law (20 page)

I passed the clipboard back to Roxy with my thanks, and she snorted. Roxy didn't look to be in a sharing-information mood. I plopped the box of doughnuts on the counter. Roxy's nose twitched, and she took a Bavarian cream. Two bites later, she was smiling. I waited for her to take her second doughnut before saying, “There are a few other things I should tell the police, but I'm nervous about talking to the sheriff and Deputy Holmes. You were friends with my mom. I feel I can trust you.”

The doughnut stopped halfway to Roxy's mouth, and her eyes lit up. “Of course you can trust me,” she said, leaning forward. “Why don't you tell me what's on your mind.”

I felt a surge of triumph as Roxy took the bait. Nodding, I rummaged through my purse. My fingers closed around Mack's storage key, and I held it out to Roxy. “This key turned up at the rink. I did a little investigating and discovered it belonged to a storage locker registered under Mack's name. I thought the sheriff might be interested. It could be important.”

“Anything is possible. Is that all?” Roxy took the key, her face filling with disappointment. A key wasn't good gossip material, but I wasn't done gossiping yet.

I looked from side to side as if afraid of being overheard. Then I said, “One other thing. I was talking to Agnes Piraino about her pets. She mentioned that her cat's medication turned up missing one day, which sounds suspicious to me.”

Roxy frowned. “Agnes is a hundred years old. She probably threw the medication away by accident or fed it to the fish. I wouldn't worry about it.”

She went back to her doughnut, and I let out a very audible sigh. “Yeah, I guess you're right. I was just concerned because the drug the cat was taking is the same one that someone slipped Mack. If you don't think it's important, though, I'll stop worrying about it.”

That got her attention. Roxy looked like someone had given her a wedgie. “How do you know it was the same drug?”

I shook my head. “I don't want to get anyone in trouble.” Not to mention not wanting the story of Eleanor and Pop to get around. “I do know about the clomipramine in Mack's system, which is why the missing prescription bothered me. I thought maybe the person who took it was the one who bumped off Mack, but I guess I was wrong. Thanks for listening to me, though.”

I headed for the exit as the distinct sound of a receiver being yanked off its cradle followed me out the door. The Indian Falls phone tree was about to kick into high gear.

After some power walking, I strolled through the front door of Doc's office. Eleanor waved at me. “Hi, Rebecca. How's your grandfather doing?”

“He's fine.”

“I was so excited when they announced the senior center won best float. I tried to congratulate Arthur, but there were too many people around. Let him know I'm looking for him, will you? Tell him we should celebrate his victory in private.”

Every nerve in my body cringed. “Okay,” I said before quickly switching subjects. “Doc brought in a guy for observation last night. Do you know how he's doing?”

“Neil Capezio?” she asked. “What a nice boy. I can't imagine who would want to hurt someone like that.”

Neither could I, but I was going to do my best to find out.

“So, he's going to be okay?” I asked.

“Sure is, honey. He's still a little confused because of the concussion. He keeps saying that you were going to be his fiancée but that he's not sure about that anymore. He wants to go back to Chicago and think about it.”

Maybe a bump on the head was what Neil needed to bring him back to his senses. That or Neil didn't want the mother of his children to put them in mortal danger. Either was good by me.

“Thanks for taking care of him, Eleanor,” I said with genuine feeling. Deliberately, I added, “Mack's murderer already killed one person in my rink. I couldn't bear it if he succeeded with another.”

Eleanor's eyes grew wide. “You think Mack's killer hit that boy over the head?”

I tried my best to look solemn. “I'm sure of it—but don't tell anyone, okay? I don't want to scare half the town. Besides, the cops will catch the suspect soon. I heard they have a lead.”

Mission accomplished, I headed for the door. “Oh.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out Neil's bondage shoelaces. “Give these to Neil and tell him to have a good trip back to Chicago.”

Next on my agenda was Shear Highlights—the hub of gossip. Besides, I had to find out what drugs Annette's shrink had her on in order to get her name off my suspect list. Since my nails were looking a bit ragged, I figured I could weasel information out of my friend and get a manicure all at the same time. Can I multitask or what?

Annette was arm-deep in chocolate brown hair coloring when I walked in the door. I signed in at the front desk and took a seat in the full waiting area.

Magazine in hand, I was contemplating whether the new Victoria's Secret bra would actually do wonders for me when I heard, “Hi, Rebecca. Are you going to finally let me cut your hair?”

“No, but I'll let you paint my nails, and you can use any color you'd like.”

“Works for me. Give me one second, then I'll get you started.” Annette led me to a manicure table located about four feet away. It was the perfect location for being accidentally overheard but not great for pumping Annette about her psychiatric issues. The drug questions would have to take a backseat until I caught Annette alone.

“So,” she said, arranging bowls and files on the tiny table, “is it true you hit your ex-boss over the head?”

I blinked. “Who told you that?”

Annette put my hands in a bowl of soapy water. “Marietta Espinoza. She talked to Eleanor just before she came here to get her hair done. Eleanor said your former boss was in Doc's office nursing a concussion.”

One of the problems with gossip was the inaccuracies that popped up, but I was more than happy to spread the “truth” to every busybody within the sound of my voice. “Lionel and I found Neil tied up on the rink apartment's living room floor last night.” Out of the corner of my eye I could see several magazines lower as the yentas tuned in. “It looks like Mack's murderer was after me. I guess I was asking too many questions, only he beaned Neil instead.”

“Wow.” Annette jumped in her seat, sending several nail files careening to the ground. “You figured out who killed Mack, didn't you? Are you going to tell me?”

I shook my head. “I can't, but I've talked to the sheriff. They should wrap up the case any day now. Once that happens, I'll fill you in on everything.”

“Good. Then you'll be able to get out of this town and back to Chicago where you belong.” Annette gave a relieved sigh as every woman in the place reached for her cell phone.

Fifteen minutes later, I left the salon with Rustic Red nails and a mostly satisfied smile. I might not know what drug Annette was taking, but between Roxy, Eleanor, and the yentas, the whole town would know the cops were about to nab the killer. If that didn't shake the killer out of hiding, I didn't know what would. I just wished Annette weren't so eager to kick me out of Indian Falls. Her desire to send me packing made my minor victory feel hollow.

Next stop on my agenda was Slaughter's Market. There could only be a handful of people in this town who would purchase the items on the killer's grocery list, so all I needed to do was find out who those people might be. Easy, right?

A tall, scrawny white-haired guy with a vague expression was manning the register. His name tag read nigel. I smiled at him. “Hi, Nigel. My name's Rebecca Robbins. I'm the owner of the Toe Stop roller rink. Do you mind if I ask you a question?”

He blinked, which I optimistically chose to take as a yes. “I'm starting a gourmet club here in town, and I was hoping you could tell me which customers like tofu?”

“Huh?”

“Tofu.” I carefully enunciated the word. “Do you know which customers buy tofu?”

“Hair goo? Hair care is in aisle three.”

Something told me Nigel needed to change the batteries in his hearing aid. Abandoning the tofu questions, I raised my voice and inquired, “Is Felix in the store?”

“How should I know if Felix snores? You'll have to ask him yourself. He'll be in after two.”

My brain aching, I left the market. Outside, the temperature was climbing. I walked down Main Street, retrieved my car from the rink parking lot, and pulled up to the Dairy Queen drive-up window. All the talk about tofu had made me hungry.

Armed with chili dogs and fries, I aimed the car toward Pop's house. Roxy and company should have spread the word about my detective skills. Now I needed Pop to find out what they were saying.

The charred remains of the scarecrow were now in a pile at the end of the driveway, the first stop on a journey to its final resting place at the county dump. Saying a silent farewell to Louise's arts and crafts project, I pulled up next to Pop's maroon Lincoln Town Car, grabbed the Dairy Queen bags, and carefully listened at the side door for any noises. If Pop was entertaining a guest, I wasn't going in.

Nothing.

I opened the side door and dropped the bags on the kitchen table. Grabbing a soda from the fridge, I went in search of Pop. I could hear the television blaring in the living room, and my nerves tightened with dread. Peeking around the corner, I let out a relieved sigh. Pop was sprawled on the love seat, snoring away in a pair of boxers. A long purple scarf was draped around his neck. His black Elvis wig sat slightly askew on his head. After some of the strange outfits he'd been wearing, this was a good look for him.

“Hey, Pop. Wake up.” I nudged his shoulder. “I brought chili dogs.”

Pop's eyes snapped open. “Chili dogs? Where are they?” Pop swung his legs to the floor, and before I could blink he was up on his feet. Growing up, there were two constants in my life—my mother and Pop's addiction to chili dogs.

A few minutes later, the two of us were seated in the kitchen dividing up the hot dogs. Three for Pop. One for me. Both of us got fries and onion rings. I chomped down on a french fry, and my body hummed with pleasure.

When the last piece of hot dog was devoured, Pop leaned back in his chair and belched. “So why the chili dogs? What do you want?”

“I need you to tap your resources and find out what the gossips in town are buzzing about. I set a few things in motion this morning, and I need to know if they worked.”

“I can do that.” Pop pushed away from the table and shuffled over to the phone. “I gotta make it quick, though. I have to start practicing for my new job.”

“What job?” I asked. “I thought you said you couldn't take care of the rink anymore because working was bad for your health.”

Pop shrugged. “This isn't a nine-to-five job like that. See, winning the float competition got me thinking. I really like the King, and all the women told me I looked just like him yesterday. You can see the resemblance, right?”

Maybe if I stayed out in the sun too long and was hallucinating. “So what's the job?” I asked.

Pop grinned. “I'm going to be an Elvis impersonator, and my first gig is Friday night at the senior center. The bingo crowd is a rowdy group, and everyone who's anyone will be there. You should bring Lionel. I'll make sure you get a scarf.” Pop began to gyrate his hips, and he slid the purple scarf off his neck and swung it around in a circle, causing a muscle in my neck to twitch. The jerky movements made the black wig slip over Pop's eyes. He stopped dancing in order to readjust the rug on his head and quipped, “I'm still trying to figure out how to get this hair to stay on during my dance routines. Maybe Annette can give me some advice.”

I pointed to the phone, and Pop started dialing while I buried my head in my hands. The image of Pop doing a hula in his shorts was going to haunt me for the rest of my life. If my grandmother was alive, this would have killed her. Grandma Phillips was the steady-as-a-rock, everything-in-its-place type, and growing up I'd thought Pop was, too. Boy, did he have me fooled.

Several phone calls later, Pop shimmied back to the table with a large grin plastered on his face. “I don't know what you did, but the whole town is abuzz. Everyone's saying there's evidence pointing to Mack's murderer. They claim you have it. Do you?”

“Maybe.” Pop was great for getting gossip, but he was also a champ at spreading it. Telling him I was bluffing would ruin everything.

Pop's eyes were wide with curiosity, and he added, “Edna said something about Mack storing dead bodies somewhere and that Agnes's cat drugged Mack. I don't know if I should pay any attention to her, since she also claims to hear the voice of Abraham Lincoln giving her racing tips. Edna plays the ponies every Saturday.”

“Anything else?” I was hoping someone would crack under the pressure. A confession would make my life a lot more comfortable.

He shrugged. “Marjorie Buckingham said she'd come over later and help me with my pelvic rotations, but I wasn't sure you'd want to know about that.”

The chili dog lurched in my stomach. Pop gave me a concerned look, and I gave him a big, if sickly, smile while asking, “Why isn't Louise helping you with your Elvis career? She'd make great costumes.”

“Louise and I called it quits. She wanted me to put another one of those death traps in my yard. I said no way in hell, and that's when Louise said I was ungrateful and broke up with me.” Pop turned on the sink and filled his glass with water. “Good thing, too. I wanted to end it for a week, only I didn't know how to do it. I hate seeing women cry.”

Pop gave me a hug good-bye and started gargling at the sink. Getting in my car, I could hear my grandfather's out-of-tune voice wafting through an open window as he gave the neighborhood a sneak preview of “Don't Be Cruel”—Pop style. Talk about irony.