Skating Around The Law (5 page)

My first thought was
“Okay.” I could hit the road tonight and be back in Chicago in time to meet some of my friends at the bar. Saturday was half-price margarita day at Uncle Hector's Hacienda. The way my life was going, I needed at least a dozen.

Still, as much as I wanted to get out of this town and back to my real life, I wasn't about to let a little graffiti chase me away. I was made of stronger stuff than that…I thought. Besides, my questions seemed to have actually hit a nerve. Despite my inexperience, my investigation might be getting somewhere after all.

Grabbing my cell phone, I dialed Roxy at the sheriff's department. My voice only quavered once as I filled her in on my situation. She informed me that the sheriff was still busy at home but a deputy would be by soon. Then she hung up. No doubt Roxy wanted to get back to her personal grooming.

I turned my back on the threatening message, just as George's beat-up Ford Escort pulled into the lot. George barely gave the car a chance to stop before he bounded out and came to stand in front of the door with his mouth slack and his eyes glazed.

Finally he spoke. “Who would do this? Your mother spent a fortune on these doors.”

Hmm…not my first or even second reaction.

I resisted the urge to yell at George because I liked him. His whole name was George Szczypiorski, but no one could pronounce it. I knew I couldn't, but I could spell it since I was currently writing out his checks.

George was about ten years older than me with white-blond hair and a tall, lanky frame. Growing up, I was always hearing how beautiful George's skating was and how I should try to be more like him. Well, now he was the rink's only full-time teacher and the person I relied on to keep things limping along. This was scary because, though I liked him, George reminded me of the Misfit Elf who wanted to be a dentist. I was certain that if someone offered George a sequined turnip costume and a ten-dollar-a-week job in the Ice Capades, he'd leap at it. George liked shiny things and applause.

A squad car swung into the lot, and a sheriff's deputy climbed out. “Well, what do we have here?”

He sauntered up next to George, and I groaned. The deputy was none other than Sean Holmes—three years older than me, perfection on the high school football field, and the biggest horse's ass I'd ever had the privilege to meet. My day was just getting better and better.

“Hi, Sean. Thanks for getting here so fast.” I smiled, hoping he'd matured in the twelve years since high school.

He grinned back. “I'm pretty fast at everything.”

So much for maturity.

“So I guess you want me to take your statement?”

I did a mental eye roll. “Well, since you came all the way here, I guess we should.”

Sean walked back to his squad car just as George's first student arrived. I let them in through the side door, then walked back to where Sean was standing with a clipboard.

Sean uncapped his pen. “Name.”

I gave him my best “you're such a schmuck” look. “Oprah Winfrey.”

Sean wrote it down without blinking. “Address.”

It went on like that until he finally walked over to the door for a closer look. He snapped a couple of pictures with his camera phone and walked back toward me. Sean gave me the clipboard and asked me to sign the sheriff's report, which I did.

“Don't you think we should test the paint or something? You know, collect evidence of the crime.” My late-night television watching reared its head.

“No point.” Sean gave me a superior look. “My guess is all your poking around today asking questions pissed somebody off. If you'd let the sheriff's department do their job, you wouldn't have any problems. Keep your nose out of other people's business and let trained professionals handle Mack's murder. I'd hate to see anything happen to that pretty neck of yours.”

I took my copy of the official report, thanked Sean, and watched as he headed out of the parking lot—Indian Falls' finest on his way to save the world. Too bad he didn't seem all that interested in solving my graffiti problem.

Walking back to the doors, I took a closer look at the scrawled message. Huh. The words didn't look like they were written in paint. I ran my finger along one of the letters, something Sean didn't think of, and the writing smeared.

Lipstick?

I rummaged through my purse until I came up with a Dairy Queen napkin. Then I rubbed some of the graffiti onto it. With the sample safely stored in my purse, I proceeded inside to get a bucket of water and a sponge.

Mom had been very proud of those new doors. Cleaning them was the least I could do.

 

I spent the rest of the afternoon behind the rental counter giving out skates in exchange for my customers' smelly shoes. The task required only two of my brain cells, which allowed the rest to think about Mack.

Mack taking money from people and not finishing the jobs they paid for didn't sound right to me. My mother always said Mack was a stand-up guy who did good work. I remembered her mentioning that she'd hired him to do a bunch of the rink renovation.

I zipped back to the front office and checked the books. Sure enough. Mack had painted the rink walls and hung the new lights. Ironically, he'd even laid the bathroom tile. After each job my mom had drawn a smiley face—her bookkeeping technique for signaling a job well done. Several entries for other workers had frowny faces, but not Mack. A year ago Mack was still doing his job well, so what happened?

Around six o'clock, George popped his head into the office. He told me he was going to stay till close and could lock up. The rink wasn't all that busy. Not surprising considering a murder had taken place here. Parents were going to be careful about letting their kids go out at all, let alone come here to skate. That meant the rink's bottom line was going to take a hit. One more reason to solve the murder, I thought, as I grabbed my purse and headed home for the night.

Walking into Pop's house, I could hear the television blaring from the living room. Peeking in, I saw Pop watching TV with a date. Terrified about what else I might see, I tiptoed past the doorway and headed up the stairs.

“Rebecca, is that you?”

Caught. I backed down the stairs. “Yeah, Pop. It's me.”

“Well, come on in here. I have someone I want you to meet.”

My stomach clenched in protest as I walked into the living room. My grandfather had his arm draped around a robust, champagne-haired lady with apple cheeks. They were seated on the living room love seat facing the television. Both turned to flash their convertible teeth in my direction.

I forced a cheerful smile and waved. “Hi. I'm Rebecca.”

My grandfather gave the lady's shoulders a squeeze. “This here is my date, Louise Lagotti. She's one of Indian Falls' artists. Runs a craft business out of her house.”

Louise? I could have sworn last night Pop said his date's name was Marjorie. I stood there awkwardly for a moment as they looked at me with expectant expressions. I asked, “What kind of crafts do you make?”

Louise's face turned red with pleasure. She gave a cloying little giggle and smiled at Pop. I waited for her to tell me she strung beads for jewelry or crocheted doilies—the usual Indian Falls Senior Center craft projects. Instead she answered, “I make scarecrows.”

Maybe the rink music had affected my hearing. “Did you say scarecrows?”

Louise nodded. “I started making them for Halloween, but I liked mine too much to put it away. So I made it an outfit for Christmas. My friends all loved it. They even said I should go into business. So I did, and it's been wonderful.” Louise gave another giggle, which turned into a loud snort.

Pop patted Louise's hand. “Isn't she something, Rebecca?”

She was something, all right. I just wasn't sure what.

“I'm going to the kitchen to get a drink. Would the two of you like anything?”

Pop and Louise declined, so I left them watching TV and made a beeline for the fridge. I grabbed a soda and a pad of paper and a pen. Balancing everything, I took a seat at the kitchen table and wrote down what I knew about Mack thus far.

Gnawing on the pen, I studied my efforts. There was a picture of a demented cat, a sketch of a smiling camel, and a stick figure of Lionel that didn't do his body justice. All this told me was that I needed art lessons, not to mention someone who knew Mack and could tell me what he needed all the money for. Drugs? Women? Gambling? In the mortgage world, I'd seen any one of the three doom someone's credit. One of them could have gotten Mack killed. All I needed was someone to tell me which one it was.

I grabbed my soda and walked back toward the living room. “Hey Pop, do you know—”

My grandfather and Louise stood up from the love seat with guilty expressions and disheveled clothes. Louise's face was almost purple as she tucked her blouse into her hiked-up skirt.

“Did you want something, Rebecca?” My grandfather sat back down on the couch and patted the seat next to him for Louise, who smoothed her skirt and sank down next to him.

I squelched my scream and squeaked out, “Did Mack have any close friends?”

My grandfather shrugged. “Mack pretty much kept to himself, but he did go to a weekly poker game at Doc Franklin's house. You should ask him.”

“Oh, I will, Pop,” I said as I felt my blood pressure rise. You bet your ass I will, I thought.

I turned to go up the stairs as the sound of an opening zipper rang throughout the house. I took the stairs two at a time and ran into my room. An hour later, showered and changed, I checked to make sure the living room was empty before walking past it toward the door.

During the drive to Lionel Franklin's house, my irritation began to smolder into full-fledged anger. Lionel was friends with Mack Murphy and didn't tell me. He had let me believe that Mack was his handyman, period. Could it be the handsome Dr. Franklin had something to hide? I didn't know, but I was determined to find out.

I pulled up in front of the vet clinic and poured myself out of my car. While getting dressed, I'd decided I needed an edge when talking to Lionel. That's why I was now sporting a skintight denim skirt that showed a lot of leg and a shiny green blouse that showed a hint of cleavage. Problem was, I hadn't counted on my three-inch heels making it difficult to navigate the gravel sidewalk. Sidewalks were made of cement in the city where I'd bought the shoes.

I teetered precariously to the front door and turned the handle. Locked again, and this time a sign wasn't posted telling me he was here. Damn! I peered around the corner of the house. Lights were on in the barn. Maybe Elwood the camel was throwing a party? I decided to risk possible maniacs hiding in the dark and a sprained my ankle to find out.

The sound of laughter hit me the minute I walked into the barn. Elwood trotted down the center aisle to greet me. Tonight he was wearing a card dealer's visor.

After giving him a pat, I teetered to the back of the building toward the source of the laughter as Elwood cantered beside me. We passed stalls occupied by horses, cows, a donkey, a couple of goats, and a llama. From the number of animals, it looked like Lionel had a successful veterinary practice going. The Indian Falls 4-H Club would probably bail him out if he got busted for murder.

Elwood stopped to commune with the llama, and I followed the murmur of voices through the far door. I turned the corner into a comfortable-looking den with an overstuffed couch, a small refrigerator, and a large round table that was situated on a faded area rug in the middle of the room. Four men were seated around the table with poker chips stacked in front of them. Every pair of eyes was focused on me.

Wow, was this lucky, I thought. The poker game Pop told me about was going on right now.

I didn't recognize the two men who were staring at my high heels and short skirt. The other two I did know had different expressions. Lionel wore a frown. Dr. Truman, town physician and medical examiner, was smiling. Maybe bumping into him tonight was a sign my luck was improving.

Lionel gave my outfit a dismissive look. “What are you doing here, Rebecca?”

I ignored him and gave the other men my best flirty smile. “Pop said you had a poker game going. I love poker. Do you mind if I play?”

“Yes. As a matter of fact I do.” Lionel stood up and crossed to me. “We have plenty of players, so I'll just show you out.”

He took my arm to guide me toward the door. I tried to turn around, but my left heel caught on the edge of the area rug. That sent me toppling straight into Lionel's back. Caught off guard, Lionel went careening to the floor.

I, however, remained standing.

“Lionel.” Dr. Truman wagged his finger at Lionel's sprawled body. “That's no way to treat a lady.”

“Apologize to the lady. She was just trying to be friendly.” This from an attractive blond guy wearing jeans and a polo shirt. The dark-haired man wearing jeans and a Chicago Cubs jersey nodded his agreement.

Lionel brushed off his pants and returned to his seat at the table. I gave him an innocent smile, and his eyes narrowed.

I swallowed hard. This was not a man who wanted to apologize, I thought. This was a man contemplating how his hands would fit around my throat.

The image of Mack's head encased in porcelain danced through my mind. Maybe coming here had been a miscalculation. I took a step toward the exit and stammered, “Lionel doesn't have to apologize. I'll just leave you guys to your game and see myself out.”

I could question Dr. Truman at his office, and Lionel I'd talk to when it was daylight. And when I was wearing tennis shoes. High heels were useless when outrunning a potential murderer.

“No. You should stay, Rebecca.” Lionel's voice was soft. I wasn't fooled by his calm tone. Behind the quiet exterior a storm was brewing. “It might be interesting to play poker with a woman.”