Skating Over the Line (2 page)

“I'm going back to the center to tell Jimmy. He'll be relieved.” Pop patted my cheek.

I nodded while walking with Pop to the sidewalk, but in my mind I was back in my office, holding the letter. “Hey, Pop,” I said. “I got a note today from my father.”

“What's that sorry excuse for a man want?” Pop asked.

I took a deep breath and said, “Stan is coming back here, to Indian Falls.”

I don't know what reaction I expected, but it wasn't my grandfather fainting.

 

Two

Sprawled on the ground, Pop blinked
up at me. “What happened?”

I helped him get into a sitting position while taking deep breaths to calm my panic. “You fainted.”

“Fainted?” Pop snorted. “I've never fainted in my life.”

The cantankerous sound of my grandfather's voice did my heart good. Pop was okay. Knowing that, I was able to smile.

“Then what are you doing lying on the asphalt?” I asked, trying to hide my amusement.

Pop sputtered for a moment, then announced, “It's because of these damn pants.”

Pop struggled to get to his feet, and I helped haul him upright. Indignant, he said, “The women at the center told me I had to wear tight pants in my Elvis act. Well, now I know why Elvis died so young. He probably hit his head after losing circulation in his … you know.”

I did know, and I would have been a lot happier if I didn't. Thinking about my grandfather's … well, it made me a whole lot more uncomfortable than the sweltering heat.

“Pop,” I said, deliberately averting my eyes as he adjusted the crotch of his pants. “While I would love nothing more than to blame your pants, they aren't the reason you passed out.”

Pop blinked at me. “They're not? Huh? You think it was the heat.”

“I think it was my saying my father is coming to town.” Pop's face went white. I took a step closer in case he went down again. “Look, Pop, it's no wonder you're upset. You and Stan don't have the best relationship.”

Neither did I. Maybe it was genetic.

Pop shook his gnarled fist. “I want to kill the hairy little wart. The man deserves it for breaking your and your mother's hearts. Heck, his coming to town is a good thing. Gives me a chance to get some of my friends together and rough him up.”

Something told me the septuagenarian Untouchables weren't going to scare Stanley Robbins, but what did I know. My father might have a fear of disgruntled old guys.

Smiling at the bizarre image of Pop in a zoot suit, I said, “You're not going to rough up Stan.”

“Why? You want to do it?”

Tempting. Too bad I had to take the moral high ground.

“No,” I said with regret. My absentee father kind of deserved roughing up. “No one is going to touch him. In fact,” I added, hoping for once my father's faithless personality hadn't changed, “I doubt we even see him. When was the last time Stan actually did what he said he was going to do?”

Pop squinted into the sunlight, thinking about my words. “You're right,” he said with a frown. “That man ain't never going to set foot in this town. Too bad. I was starting to like the idea of giving him a good butt whopping. A couple of kicks to the keister would knock some much-needed sense into him.”

He straightened his shoulders and took a shuffling step down the sidewalk, content to leave the topic of my wayward father behind. Come to think of it, I was, too. It was easier than dealing with the disappointment that always came along with Stan Robbins.

Looking back, Pop asked, “Are you coming?”

“Where?”

“To see Jimmy. I'd think you'd want to talk to him.” Pop smiled. “Seeing as how you're the detective on his case.”

*   *   *

The Senior Center was a large yellow-and-white brick structure two blocks down the street from my roller rink. At one time, it had been the town's high school. By the time I reached the age of pimples and hormonal angst, a larger high school had been built on the outskirts of town. This building had sat empty for years, until the town's senior citizens commandeered it for bingo and bake sales. Now the place was a hotbed of activity for the over-seventy crowd.

Pop and I walked into the blissfully air-conditioned building, each scarfing down a large cookies-and-cream Blizzard. The Dairy Queen was conveniently located between the rink and the center. This was the real reason I'd agreed to talk to Jimmy.

The minute Pop stepped from the red carpet of the foyer into the beige-colored lobby, women appeared from every direction. A robust gray-haired woman in a yellow tank top came barreling down the blue linoleum-tiled hallway and skidded to a stop in front of my grandfather. My grandfather smiled at her, staring at her breasts. Not the most gentlemanly move. However, the woman wasn't wearing a bra, which made them kind of hard to ignore.

Two white-haired ladies came scurrying from another linoleum-tiled hallway to the right. One lady was tall and thin, the other short and squat. Together, they stopped on the other side of Pop and glared at the lady in yellow. Then, as if on cue, all three women began to speak, vying for my grandfather's attention.

“Arthur, did you hear about poor Jimmy's car?” cooed the bouncing boob lady.

Not to be outdone, the short woman sighed and ran her fingers down Pop's arm. “I can't believe the crime in this town. First the murder, now this.”

Pop's eyes looked a little wild as the tall woman began to gush. “Single women like me,” she said, with a pointed glare at the braless lady, “have to be careful. I'm going to be scared to walk home on my own, unless a man like you would be willing to escort me.”

Pop's look of horror made me choke on my Blizzard. I coughed, trying to clear a piece of Oreo cookie from my throat, and four pairs of eyes swung in my direction.

Ditching his admirers, Pop shuffled over and gave me an enthusiastic thwack on the back with his ice cream–less hand. The jolt cleared my windpipe and sent me careening forward. Thank goodness the wall was there to break my fall. The fact that the women were more interested in Pop's heroics than my antics made the episode embarrassing but bearable.

I straightened a skewed painting of a flowering cactus and said, “Pop” above the din of feminine voices. “Isn't Jimmy expecting us?”

Pop flashed me a grateful dentured grin. “Sorry, ladies,” he said, removing the short lady's hand from his arm. “My granddaughter and I have important business with Jimmy. Since she proved to be such a crackerjack detective when solving the murder, Jimmy wants her to take over the investigation of the theft of his car.”

Rolling my eyes, I grabbed Pop's arm and marched him toward the hallway to our left. Before we could reach it, Pop turned around and said, “Don't forget to come to the show on Friday night. I'm going to be singing ‘Love Me Tender.'”

I rolled my eyes again as a tittering of oohs and sighs followed us down the hall.

“Why did you have to say that?” I asked, letting go of Pop's arm.

Pop shrugged. “I need a big audience on Friday. I have an important agent from the Quad Cities coming to see my act. If things go well, I might get some casino bookings. Those pay good money.”

“I wasn't referring to your commercial. Why did you tell them I'm taking over Jimmy's investigation? Couldn't you have told them we were going to play cards or something?”

Pop looked shocked. “I couldn't lie to them.” I gave him my best “You have to be kidding” look. Pop was a champion fibber. His lips spread into an unapologetic grin. “Okay, I could have lied to them, but I didn't think of it. Sue me. Those three are big fans of my Elvis act and they can get a little aggressive. Twice now they've tried to tear off my clothing. I didn't think you'd want to see that.”

Okay, I couldn't fault him for that. Still, the Senior Center was the hub of Indian Falls gossip. An hour from now, everyone in town would have heard that I was butting into police business. Including Deputy Sean. I'd be behind bars by dinnertime.

Pop, however, didn't seem concerned. “Besides, they would have gotten the information out of Jimmy the minute we left. Jimmy doesn't have my willpower. He's a sucker for a pretty face.”

We pitched our Dairy Queen cups in an empty trash can and kept walking. Pop led me past the dining room and the workout facilities before leading me into a small room with a television and a couple of worn armchairs. Slumped deep in one of the chairs, sleeping through a CNN report, was Jimmy Bakersfield.

The minute we walked through the door, his eyes sprang open and his head turned toward us. Jimmy smiled at me, and I couldn't help smiling back. Everyone smiled at Jimmy. His eyes twinkled with laughter while surrounded by drooping, tanned skin weathered by age.

He stretched and pulled his large body upright. The movement caused his gray-and-brown-streaked comb-over to flop up and down. That combined with his tube socks, Bermuda shorts, and ragged flannel shirt suddenly helped me understand why the AARP women of Indian Falls considered my grandfather the catch of the county.

“Hi, Mr. Bakersfield.” I waved. “I'm sorry to hear about your car.”

“Me, too. And call me Jimmy.” Jimmy's comb-over bobbed up and down. “You could've knocked me over with a feather when I saw my car wasn't where I'd left it. I've had that car for thirty-nine years, and someone up and stole it. How's that for rotten luck?”

I agreed it was very bad luck. “Pop and I saw Deputy Holmes in the rink parking lot. He seems determined to find your car as soon as possible.”

“Bah!” Jimmy waved away my reassuring words. “Sean Holmes wouldn't be able to find his own ass with a map and a flashlight.”

Pop cleared his throat and gave Jimmy a fierce look. Then he glanced at me, sending a red flush climbing up Jimmy's tanned face.

Jimmy hung his head. “Sorry. I don't normally use language like that in front of a young lady, but this thing with my car has me on edge.”

I nodded sagely, trying not to laugh. Jimmy's wizened old face looked so contrite, and for no reason. When it came to Sean Holmes, Jimmy and I were of like minds.

“Don't worry about it, Jimmy.” Pop patted his friend on the arm and sat in a faded pink armchair. “Why don't you tell Rebecca here about your car. With her on the case, you'll be back driving it around town again in no time.”

Sighing, I perched on the chair next to Pop and listened as Jimmy gave me the same information he'd given Deputy Sean.

“So, what do you think, Rebecca?” My grandfather's eyes gleamed with pride. I could tell he was waiting for me to have a psychic moment and crack the case wide open. If only I hadn't left my crystal ball in my other purse. “Do you have any other questions for Jimmy?” he asked.

No. But a truthful answer would have made my grandfather pout, so I improvised. I stood up and walked around the room. Pop and Jimmy probably thought I was pacing in order to think. Truth was, my foot had fallen asleep.

“Did you leave your key under the floor mat?” I asked. My grandfather did this all the time. He said it was a typical Indian Falls practice. I thought it was a passive-aggressive way of scoring a new car.

Jimmy dug into his pocket and pulled out three keys attached to a beer-opener key chain. “Can't do that with a car like mine. It's a classic, you know. That's why it costs so much for insurance.”

Sure. That's the reason.

But at least now I had a useful, if not crime-stopping, question to ask. “Jimmy, have you called your insurance company yet? They'll need to know about your car.”

Jimmy nodded. “I called Dean right after Sean Holmes blew out of here. Dean Gross handles all my insurance. He has for years. Got me a lower rate last year based on my age and spotless driving record.” He ran a hand through his thinning hair, dislodging the hair-spray hold. “Dean's normally a crackerjack insurance guy, but I think hearing that my car's been stolen really unhinged him.”

“Why? Did he say your insurance has lapsed or that theft isn't part of your coverage?” I'd had that happen two years ago, when I was living in Chicago. It had taken me months to convince the insurance company that I had paid my premium. Going after Jimmy's insurance guy was a task I could throw my energies into.

My enthusiasm was deflated when Jimmy replied, “No. Nothing like that. I hate to admit it, but I told him I was a little fuzzy on whether I'd paid my last bill. The minute I said that, Dean got all quiet. It was like we'd gotten disconnected. I was about ready to hang up, when Dean said I'd called him last week and asked the same question.”

Pop gave Jimmy an understanding pat. “That kind of thing can happen. I bought two tubes of denture glue last week because I forgot I'd bought the first one.”

Jimmy's eyes narrowed and his face flushed. “I know I didn't call Dean. I said he must have gotten me mixed up with someone else, but he insisted I called. Said I asked all sorts of questions about my coverage. Even claimed I might not remember because of my age. Can you believe that? Telling me I'm losing my mind ain't no way to keep my business. Once my car turns up, I'm going shopping for a new insurance agent.”

I vaguely heard Pop voice outrage in defense of his friend. But while the two issued insults about the bias of insurance companies toward old people, my mind was stuck on Dean Gross's mysterious conversation with Jimmy.

Interrupting Pop's particularly colorful description of Dean's sexual prowess, I asked, “Did Mr. Gross say what day of the week you called?”

“Tuesday.” Red-faced, Jimmy pulled up a drooping tube sock. “That's how I know I didn't make the call. My grandkids were here visiting on Tuesday. Spent the whole day in the barn with them. If you ask me, Dean is going a little funny in the head.”

Pop slapped the arm of his chair. “Well, my granddaughter here will get to the bottom of everything. Won't you, Rebecca?”