Skating Over the Line (15 page)

The guilt meter went up another notch, but I wasn't about to give in. Pop's life was more important than taking him looking for scary guys. I was about to suggest we go into the air-conditioned rink, when Max came bounding up to me with an excited smile.

“Wow! That was cool. I never would've guessed that working at a roller rink would be so interesting.” Turning to Pop, he asked, “Do you think they'll catch the guys who attacked you?”

“The cops?” Pop scoffed. “Nah. Sean tries really hard and he's pretty smart when he wants to be, but you have to have a knack for investigation. Rebecca here has it. I was just telling her we should go looking for witnesses, but we don't have a picture to show anyone. People need a picture to look at in order to identify the perps.”

Max nodded. “Too bad the cops don't have a sketch artist. I bet you remember every detail about those guys. I know I would remember everything if someone threatened me.”

“That's it.” Pop snapped his fingers. “A sketch artist.”

“The Indian Falls Sheriff's Department doesn't have a sketch artist, Pop.” I hated bursting his bubble, but this time it was the truth.

Pop shook his head. “Ethel Jacabowski at the center takes all those art classes. I bet I could describe the guys to her and she'd be able draw a picture of them.”

“You think she could do that?” Max looked hopeful.

“She's the best artist at the center. Everyone always wants to be on her team when we play Pictionary. People can actually tell what she's drawing, so her team wins every time.”

“I always wanted to use a sketch artist in one of my movies,” Max said wistfully. “But I've never seen one in action. That makes all the difference in putting together a realistic scene. Life experience is very important.”

“You're right.” Pop nodded. “The only way to really understand something is to experience it. Maybe you should come along and watch Ethel in action. I'm heading over there right now. I want to have her draw them before my memory starts to fade.”

Max's eyes flashed with anticipation. Then he looked at me and hung his head. “I'm scheduled to work until five. If you could wait until then, I'd love to go with you.”

Pop's shoulders slumped. Max sighed. They both looked at me with big puppy-dog eyes. Suddenly, I was the Grinch who had stolen my grandfather's crime-scene fun.

I figured Max should stay and work, but I didn't have the heart to say no again. Besides, without the two of them underfoot, I might be able to do a little snooping of my own. Being threatened had both scared and annoyed me. Someone going after my grandfather really pissed me off.

“All right, Max,” I said. “You can have the rest of the day off to work with Pop. Just make up the time on another day.”

Pop and Max gave me identical smiles, then turned to each other to high-five. As they took off for the center, I could hear Pop saying, “I think Sean Connery should play me in the movie. Lots of women tell me we look alike.”

“Where's your grandfather going?”

I turned. Lionel was leaning against the redbrick wall of the rink, watching me. “To the Senior Center. He wants to get a sketch of the bad guys.”

Lionel's left eyebrow arched. “Is he going to make it out of macaroni?”

Laughter bubbled up and out. The fear and tension I'd been holding inside since George's phone call eased. “Someone named Ethel is going to play sketch artist.”

“Sounds kinky. Who's the guy going with him?”

“My new manager, Max. He wanted to see a
real
sketch artist in action.”

Lionel's eyebrow arched higher. “Ethel?”

I giggled. “I guess that's as close to the actual thing as our budding film director can get.”

Lionel pushed off the wall and slowly walked over to me. The sensual gleam in his green eyes stopped my laughter. He hooked a hand around the back of my neck and leaned down. His warm lips pressed gently against mine.

Pulling back, he asked, “How about going back to my place? We could pick up where we left off.” His fingers caressed the back of my neck.

My mouth went dry. I was tempted to say yes. Then I remembered my bargain with God. Not that I believed God would hold it against me. After all, God was the one who said, “Be fruitful and multiply.” Still, as much as I wanted to be fruitful with Lionel, I wasn't sure this was the time.

“I can't,” I said, stepping away from Lionel's touch. The loss of contact left me feeling adrift.
Scary.
“I need to make sure everything is in order here.”

“I know you do,” Lionel responded in a tone of voice that said he didn't believe my explanation for a minute. “You realize that sometime or another we're going to have to talk about what we've been doing.”

Or not doing.

“That would be the mature thing to do.” Which was probably why I wasn't in favor of it.

The corners of Lionel's mouth twitched. “It would,” he agreed. “Why don't I pick you up around seven? I'll buy you dinner, and the two of us can think about our maturity level.”

Being cornered into talking about our relationship didn't interest me, but I did want to discuss Jimmy's car fire with Lionel. A restaurant would be the perfect place to test Lionel's firefighting knowledge, and promising to see him later would get him out of my way for the next couple of hours. That would give me plenty of time to start tracking Pop's attackers.

“Dinner sounds nice. I'll see you at seven.”

Lionel nodded, planted a quick kiss on my lips, and turned to leave. I admired the way his backside filled out his jeans as he strode to his truck. Then, the minute he drove away, I sprinted into the rink to make sure George had everything under control. He did, which meant I could start looking for the bad guys who'd attacked Pop. Once I found them, I'd call Sean and he'd arrest them. Problem solved.

*   *   *

Of course, saying I was going to find the bad guys was much easier than actually doing it. Pop hadn't provided much in the way of details. Add to that my encounter with the big dude and I still came up with nothing. Yellow-and-black shirts, dark skin, and a penchant for wires and metal ratchets weren't details that were going to solve this case.

There was only one clue from the two incidents that jumped out at me. Pop hadn't recognized the guys.

That wouldn't have mattered if this were Chicago. There, you could be mugged by someone who lived in the same building without ever having known he lived there. But this was Indian Falls, and Pop had lived here almost all his life. He knew everyone in Indian Falls and the three surrounding counties. The fact that he didn't know his attackers or hadn't heard about their existence from the local gossips pointed to one thing: Those two men weren't from around here.

Based on that flimsy deduction, I got in my car and steered it toward the edge of town. If these two weren't locals and they were here for more than a day, they had to be bunking somewhere. Indian Falls had only two motels that were actually in town. One was located just north of the diner. Any pertinent details about strangers staying there were humming through the local grapevine within hours. No one was talking about mysterious strangers, which left me pulling my Honda Civic into the Presidential Motel's parking lot on the southernmost edge of the city limits.

Faded pictures of Abraham Lincoln and Ronald Reagan greeted me as I walked into the motel. I guess the owners thought people would flock to a place Ronald Reagan might have stayed in. Reagan had been born in a nearby town, which gave businesses a license to scam. In this case, the scammers hadn't cashed in. In fact, from the condition of this motel, I would have said there was a better chance that Abe and Mary had given one of the rooms a whirl.

The gray linoleum-tile floor was peeling, giving the cement underneath a chance to see the light of day. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling fan. A love seat meant for waiting guests had two large tears in the dusty black fabric, and the counter was missing large chunks of Formica. The only thing that looked new was the computer. With a nineteen-inch flat-screen monitor, a spotless keyboard, a printer, a scanner, and a shiny processor, the thing looked like it belonged in a NASA lab instead of this run-down lobby.

And no one was there to operate it.

I took a step toward a door at the back of the room.

“Hello?” I called. “Is anyone here?”

A scrawny, short, pasty kid with large glasses and a T-shirt that read
BYTE ME
appeared in the doorway.

“Sorry. I didn't hear you come in.” He hurried behind the counter and smiled. “My name's Alan. Would you like a room?”

Yikes. The kid looked all of twelve years old. I wondered if maybe dad was around somewhere.

“Hi, Alan. I'm actually here to ask about some of your guests. Is there any chance I could talk to the manager?”

The kid pushed back an oily lock of black hair. “You are.”

“You're the manager?” I couldn't keep the surprise out of my voice. “No offense, but aren't you a little young?”

“I'm seventeen.” The kid shrugged. “My parents own the motel. Last year, they decided to take the RV around the country and left me in charge. Last I heard, they were in Seattle. Now, what can I help you with?”

I blinked at the businesslike tone in the Harry Potter look-alike's voice. He tapped his sneaker, waiting for me to answer. So I did. “I'm looking for a couple of guys who might be staying here. They're tall, dark-skinned, and speak Spanish.”

The description sounded lame even to me, but it was all I had.

“That could describe a lot of people. You got anything else?” The kid crossed his arms over his geeky shirt.

I gave myself a mental thwack on the head. “They could have been wearing matching bowling shirts.”

“Oh, them.”

My heart skipped. “They're here?” Was I brilliant or what?

“Nah.” The kid shook his head, obliterating my elation. “They came by a couple of days ago, looking for a place to stay. After seeing the rooms, they decided to go elsewhere.” Alan shrugged. “My parents ran this place into the ground. Now that they're gone, I figure I can start fixing it up. Make it into a real business.”

I hated to ruin the kid's entrepreneurial speech, but I had to ask if he remembered anything else. “By any chance did those guys say where they were going?”

“No.” My face must have shown big-time disappointment, because the kid's face turned bright red. “But,” he added, “I did give them a list of other hotels in the area. I mean, Mom and Dad would yell at me for helping the competition, but I couldn't blame them for not wanting to stay. And it was late. They needed a place to sleep. You know? They weren't like the group of college kids that came by a few days ago. The college guys had camping gear.”

“Do you remember where you sent them?”

The kid scratched his greasy head, sending another lock of hair careening over his eyes. “I told them about the Indian Falls Motel downtown and about the three near the highway. Why? Did these guys rob a bank or something?”

For a second, I was tempted to say yes. Alan's eyes were wide behind his dorky glasses. This was probably the most excitement he'd had since hooking up that new computer. I hated to disappoint the kid.

“No, but they might have stolen two cars.”

“Cool.” Alan grabbed the computer's mouse and started clicking. “This is going to make a great entry for my blog.”

Backing out of the office, I gave the blogging Alan a quick wave and, smiling, went back to my car. I had another lead. It was time to scope out the motels near the highway.

A half hour later, I pulled into the Holiday Inn Express. The very efficient clerk at the desk listened to my description of the men. He then told me not only that he didn't remember the guys but that he couldn't tell me if he did. Hotel policy.

Country Inn and Suites and the Red Roof Inn had the same party line. Guest information was confidential, and each motel had at least five different clerks who might have waited on the guys, depending on when they'd come in. I was out of luck. Worse yet, I was out of ideas.

Dejected, I steered my car back to Indian Falls. Returning to the rink was pointless. George had everything under control, and watching kids skate in circles wasn't going to help me keep my grandfather safe. I needed a plan.

I stopped at the sheriff's office, hoping Roxy would have some information. She did, but it was about a new stylist who had just opened a shop one town over. I left the station knowing where to get my hair highlighted but with no new leads. At least Roxy had promised to give Sean the message to call me. I wanted to pass along my motel lead. Maybe law enforcement would succeed where I had failed. Sean would love that.

Funny. I would, too.

Since I was in the neighborhood, I went next door to the bakery for a fresh-baked cookie. Brain food. Only my brain wasn't cooperating.

Now what?

I was about to head back to my car, when a pair of flailing arms caught my attention.

“Rebecca!” Danielle stood on the sidewalk in front of St. Mark's, looking like she was trying to land an airplane. “I have something to tell you.”

A Jeep Cherokee passed between the two of us. Once the street was cleared, I trotted over to the Lutheran side. I was Catholic, which meant Mom and I had attended St. Charles, directly across the street from St. Mark's.

While growing up, I'd been intensely curious about the church across the street, mainly because our catechism instructor told us not to go in it. Two months ago, I had finally walked through the forbidden double doors and was vastly disappointed. St. Charles and St. Mark's might teach different doctrines, but the same architect must have designed both buildings. Now I was a frequent visitor to the Lutheran side. Danielle worked there, and at the moment she was bursting with excitement.