Skating Under the Wire: A Mystery (Rebecca Robbins Mysteries) (7 page)

I handed the jacket to Annette, who gave me a firm shove into the back room before bolting toward the front of the salon. Sitting at a small table was the not-so-blushing bride-to-be. In her hands was a wadded-up tissue. Her hair was tangled, and her feet were sporting zebra-striped stilettos. Uh-oh.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, sliding into the metal folding chair across from her.

Danielle looked at me with puffy eyes and a bright, albeit deranged, smile. “Wrong? Why do you think something’s wrong?”

I pointed to her shoes, and Danielle’s shoulders slumped as the shell of bravado disappeared. “This wedding is cursed.”

“Just because someone died in the building where you were having your wedding shower doesn’t mean your wedding is cursed.” At least I hoped not. The only thing I knew about curses involved voodoo dolls made out of Popsicle sticks.

“You’re right, but losing a bridesmaid a week and a half before the wedding does.”

“A bridesmaid died?” Yikes. While I didn’t believe in curses, I was tempted to take several steps back. Death wasn’t all that high on my bucket list.

“I wish.” Danielle sniffled. “Rich’s second cousin Sherilyn decided not to come to the wedding. She moved to Tibet in a quest for peace and harmony.” The sniffle turned into a snarl. “Harmony couldn’t have waited until after she’d worn her dress and walked down the aisle?”

I’d seen the dresses. As far as I was concerned, Sherilyn had made a good choice. Unfortunately, unless I wanted to move to Tibet, the only way I was going to find peace was to help Danielle with her crisis. “Just get married with one less bridesmaid.”

Problem solved.

Or not.

Tears filled Danielle’s big brown eyes, and her lip started to tremble. “I can’t. Rich’s mother said her family has always believed that a wedding must have an even number of attendants or risk inviting evil spirits into the marriage.”

“So make one of the groomsmen an usher.”

“Rich’s mother says I’d cause irreparable damage to the family if I demoted one of Rich’s cousins.”

Rich’s mother was starting to annoy me.

“Then ask someone else.”

“Who?” A lone tear streaked down Danielle’s face. “Most of my former friends are … dancers. I can’t ask them. Not unless I want the church ladies to lynch me. Besides, they would never fit into Sherilyn’s dress. I called Tilly at the dress shop, and she said she doesn’t have time to do major alterations. So unless we can find an almost-six-foot-tall, large-chested woman who doesn’t mind being second choice, my marriage is doomed.”

“What about Erica the Red?”

Danielle looked up at me with horror. Or maybe it was hope. The suggestion to invite a Roller Derby girl with a penchant for tattoos into a Lutheran minister’s wedding party could evoke either reaction. Now that I’d suggested it, I kind of liked the idea.

Aside from me, the other members of the wedding party had all been selected in an effort to please Rich’s mother. Which meant they didn’t know or didn’t like Danielle—something they’d made very clear at the bridal shower they’d thrown a couple weeks ago. However, Erica and the rest of the EstroGenocide team were actually people Danielle hung out with. To top it off, not only would Erica fulfill the dress requirements, but she could body-check Rich’s mother if the woman came up with any more doom-and-gloom predictions. Was I maid of honor of the year or what?

Before Danielle could think about what her mother-in-law would say, I pulled out my phone and dialed. Erica picked up on the first ring. “Hey, Coach.”

I sighed. “I’m not your coach.” At the moment, that job belonged to a very enthusiastic George.

“No.” Erica laughed. “But ‘rink owner’ doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue during team announcements. So Typhoon Mary decided we should call you Coach. Of course, if you pick a derby name, we can skip the whole coach thing.”

Much to my dismay, I had attempted to come up with a derby name only to find that all the names I liked were already taken by real derby girls. Since I wasn’t skating on the team, I’d given up on finding a name—something I’d have to readdress when I had hours to scour the Roller Derby Name Registry. For the sake of Danielle’s wedding and my Thanksgiving investigation, I was just going to have to settle for Coach.

“One of Danielle’s bridesmaids bailed on the wedding. Can you fill in?”

“Hell yeah.” Erica let out a booming laugh. “Do I get to bring a date?”

“Bring whomever you’d like.” If Danielle didn’t want to pay for the extra seating, I would. How much could the caterers charge for a plate of cardboard-flavored chicken?

“Awesome. Tell me what you need me to do and I’ll do it.”

Since Danielle still looked torn between joy and dismay, I instructed Erica to meet us at Nothing Borrowed Nothing Blue later in the day to try on the dress. I hung up as Annette blew threw the door.

“Your coat will be ready by the time we’re done picking hairstyles. They’re going to bring it over.” Annette put on her smock and smiled. “Are we ready to get to work?”

We both turned to Danielle. She closed her eyes and took several deep, long breaths. A tear leaked down her cheek, and guilt churned my stomach.

Eek! Maybe I’d gotten a little too carried away with fixing Danielle’s problem. I wanted to help make Danielle’s wedding better, not ruin the entire thing. Weddings were important. Just because I wasn’t sure I ever wanted to have one of my own didn’t mean I didn’t understand that. I had to fix this. Now.

“I can call Erica back and tell her I made a mistake,” I said, pulling my phone out of my pocket. “I’ll tell her I misunderstood.”

Danielle’s eyes snapped open, and she snatched the phone out of my hand before my finger could press
SEND.
“Don’t you dare! I’m crying because I’m relieved—and the best part is I can honestly tell Rich’s mother I had nothing to do with inviting Erica. You are the best maid of honor.”

Two hours later, I was ready to ditch my title. My hair had been washed, set, curled, pinned, sprayed, and pulled so tight my eyes looked as if I’d just had Botox. My hair wasn’t merely teased, it was seriously pissed off. Worse, Danielle hadn’t liked a single style Annette had tried. The upside was, if Danielle kept this up, I wouldn’t have enough hair left to style and we could all go home.

Sitting at the back of the salon, trying to ignore the looks coming from the clients up front, I decided to concentrate on my other problem—tracking down a thief. “Annette, I had no idea you had your house robbed five years ago. Mom never mentioned it.”

Annette poked me with a bobby pin and sighed. “Probably because whoever the thief was didn’t take much. That’s why I thought it was my two-timing ex, Keith Brennan. He was pissed I’d broken up with him after I caught him fogging up the windows of Valerie Parra’s Ford Escort. The man had the nerve to say my work schedule made him feel neglected.”

She shifted my head to the right and shrugged. “When I found both my house and salon had been broken into, I figured he had to be behind it. I mean, who else would break into a place just to swipe hair products, a few knickknacks, and a jar of spare change? Unfortunately, when Sean questioned Keith, he learned the jerk had an alibi, which meant the Thanksgiving thief was behind both robberies.”

“The thief broke into the salon?” That seemed like something I should write down. For once I’d remembered to bring the notebook with me. Too bad the red plastic cape I was wearing prevented me from doing anything with it.

“The thief found my extra set of keys on the kitchen counter.” Annette twisted a lock of my hair and looked over at Danielle, who shook her head. Sighing, Annette untwisted my hair and continued talking. “It was a good thing I put most of my smaller valuables in the trunk of my car before I left town for the holiday. The other people hit that Thanksgiving weren’t so lucky.”

Crap. I’d left the list of victims in my car. “Who else was hit that year?”

“Autumn and Jeremy Gullifer.”

I ransacked my memory and came up blank.

Annette must have seen my confusion, because she said, “They live in the old Bower place. Autumn’s an artist. She makes custom stained-glass windows and pottery. She had a booth at the St. Mark’s Women’s Guild craft fair the weekend before the theft and was in Moline the weekend before. With all the holiday bustle, she and Jeremy never had a chance to get to the bank to deposit the money. The thief walked away with several thousand dollars in cash.”

Wow. My mother took a pottery class when I was in high school. The result was a brown and green vase that leaned precariously to the left. Something told me Autumn was a better craftsman than Mom.

“Did you tell anyone that you weren’t going to be home for Thanksgiving that year?”

“A few of my customers asked if I had someplace to spend the holiday. After my breakup with Keith, I think they were worried I’d be eating processed turkey sandwiches alone at home.” Annette grabbed the curling iron and began attacking the left side of my head.

I sat up a little straighter. “Do you remember who asked you about your plans?”

Danielle made an unhappy noise. The women up front stopped talking as they watched to see what would happen next. Annette sighed, put down the curling iron, and attacked my hair with a brush. Yeouch.

Finally, she put the brush down, poured some familiar-looking green goop into her hands, and continued talking. “I gave Sean a list of the clients who were scheduled to get their hair done. I imagine he still has it, but I can honestly say I don’t remember which clients asked about my plans. The day before a holiday is always so busy it’s hard to remember exactly who said what. To make matters worse, one of my suppliers showed up that day with a delivery, most of which was wrong. The supplier wasn’t happy to learn about the mistake, or that the thief had helped himself to several of the boxes before it could be remedied.”

“What was in the boxes?” I asked.

“Four mobile tanning kits, a dozen heated booties, and a case of aerosol hair spray.”

“That’s it!” Danielle’s shout made Annette and me jump. “That’s the perfect style for Rebecca and the rest of my bridesmaids.”

I looked at the mirror and blinked. Other than being so filled with products that a strong wind couldn’t move it, my hair looked exactly the way it had when I’d walked into the salon that day.

“Are you sure?” Annette asked. “I thought you said you wanted your bridesmaids to wear their hair up.”

Danielle shook her head. “My mother-in-law was the one who wanted that. I was going to go along, but Rebecca reminded me that this is my wedding. What I want goes.” The gleam in her eyes made me want to duck for cover. When Danielle got that look, scarecrows went up in smoke. This wasn’t good.

Before I could say anything, Annette whipped off my cape and escorted Danielle up front to the manicurist’s station to consult with Michelle on color choices. Grabbing my notebook out of my purse, I scribbled down the information Annette had given me. While considering my next investigative move, I studied my hair in the mirror.

Huh. Maybe I’d judged the style too quickly. Now that I really looked at it, I noticed the wave Annette had added. She had also encouraged one lock to skim across my forehead just above my right eye, which looked kind of sexy. Ever since high school I’d been called cute, spunky, and sometimes, on a really good day, pretty. Sexy was never on the list. Straightening my shoulders, I gave my head a toss—and sighed. Hair that didn’t move wasn’t sexy. It was downright creepy.

Making a note to take a shower before I saw Lionel, I grabbed my stuff and headed to the front of the salon, where Danielle was receiving wedding advice from several of Annette’s clients.

“The silver polish will look wonderful with a white dress.” This from a lovely older woman with tightly wound white curls.

Ethel shook her now perfectly styled head. “Mauve will give you a pop of color without making you look like a harlot.”

“Men like harlots.” Sweet-voiced Nan winked at Danielle. “Go with Rascal Red. Just make sure you file your nails down before the wedding night. I forgot to do that and made my poor Johnny bleed. The man was a tiger in bed. So don’t be bashful about talking to me if you need any pointers.”

“Or me,” volunteered the white-haired lady. “My Matthew wasn’t very big, but he knew how to use what God gave him.”

A good maid of honor would rescue her friend from this trio of Dr. Ruth wannabes. I was making a break for it. My jacket still hadn’t been returned, but one more word about Johnny’s jackhammer move and I’d be psychologically scarred for life. Frostbite would be easier to treat.

Telling Danielle I’d see her at Erica’s fitting, I put my head down and dashed into the icy wind. One good thing about living in Indian Falls was that its small size meant most businesses were located close together. So I was only partially frozen when I raced into Fast and Clean—the only dry cleaners located within a fifteen-mile radius.

The lack of competition meant job security and the customer base’s willingness to put up with the company living up to only half of its name. Which is why I left the store with Mr. Bettis’s flannel jacket and a promise my puffy white coat would be ready for pickup in twenty minutes. Enough time for me to stop for a quick snack at the DiBelka Bakery.

The bagels, croissants, and doughnuts were a bit picked over by the time I walked into the blissfully warm and fabulous-smelling bakery showroom. Still, the cinnamon coffee was fresh, and slices of apple coffee cake were on the counter for free sampling. Yum.

After scarfing down three pieces of cake, I selected a half-dozen Danishes to take to my next stop—the Indian Falls Sheriff’s Department. Annette had said she’d given Sean the list of clients who had been in the salon the day before the theft. Sean wasn’t the type to share information, but I was hoping his desperation for a break in the case combined with Mrs. DiBelka’s award-winning pastries would loosen his tongue. If not, I’d have six Danishes to eat later. It was a win-win proposition.

Box in hand, I clutched my borrowed flannel jacket and raced to the building next door. No one knows if it was by design or chance that the DiBelka family established their bakery next door to the sheriff’s department. Regardless of whether luck or business savvy played a role in the neighboring locations, both sides were delighted with the results. A cop’s love of doughnuts was cliché, but Sean Holmes and the rest of the department staff proved clichés existed for a reason.