Skating Under the Wire: A Mystery (Rebecca Robbins Mysteries) (8 page)

Teeth chattering, I pushed open the glass door, walked to the front desk, and peeked over the counter, looking for the receptionist, Roxy Moore. Since Indian Falls wasn’t exactly a hotbed of criminal activity, Roxy used the downtime to practice her pedicure technique. Today, however, Roxy and her polished toes were nowhere in sight.

Buoyed by my good fortune, I walked down the hall to the offices, hoping my luck would hold and Sheriff Jackson would be seated at his desk. The sheriff wasn’t always great at his job, but he tried. Better still, he liked me. He’d be more inclined to share information that Sean on principle kept to himself.

Drat. Sheriff Jackson’s office was empty, but the light glowing from the office next door told me Deputy Holmes was in residence.

Taking a deep breath, I marched into Sean’s office, took one look at his face, and fought the urge to flee. His cheeks were red. His eyes were narrowed. His hair was sticking straight up, or it would be when he stopped raking his hand through it in frustration.

All around the room was paper. In piles on the desk. In the trash can. Sitting atop the three filing cabinets lined up against the far wall, and poking out of folders stacked up around the floor. The only thing not coated in paper was the computer that Sean was at the moment calling a string of very colorful names.

“Troubles?” I asked.

Sean jumped, sending a folder perched near his elbow careening to the floor. “Crap.”

He leaned down and gathered the papers that had slid out of the folder and shoved them back inside. Without looking up, he asked, “Do you need something? I’m kind of busy here.”

I leaned against the door frame and smiled. “Did you decide to take up origami? If so, I might remember how to make a dog. Jack Gatto showed me how in Algebra.”

“Jack Gatto was a dog.”

Since the person in question got two girls pregnant at the end of his senior year, I couldn’t argue the point. “So what are you doing in here? Shouldn’t you be saving the world from jaywalking?”

“I could write you a ticket now, if you’d like.” Sighing, Sean ran a hand through his hair and looked around the room. “Roxy reorganized the sheriff’s case files. I’m trying to put them back into some logical order while she’s out sick. I don’t know what she was thinking when she set up the new system. It doesn’t make any sense.”

Something told me logical order wasn’t on the top of Roxy’s priority list when creating the filing system. Roxy had a serious crush on Deputy Sean, one he either didn’t notice or chose to turn a blind eye to. Ensuring that Sean had to enlist her help whenever he needed to find a file would give Roxy ample opportunity to flex her flirting muscles. Too bad Roxy had called in sick or she could be milking the helping-look-for-a-file routine right now.

Since my mother taught me manners, I felt compelled to ask, “Is there anything I can do to help?” Tracking down a paper shredder or creating a bonfire seemed like good options.

Thank goodness Sean turned down my request, which allowed me to circle back to my purpose in coming here. “Annette said she gave you a list of the clients who were in her salon the day before her house was broken into. Could I get a copy?”

Sean raised an eyebrow and gave a pointed look to the explosion of paper on his desk. “You want me to find a file for you?”

I smiled and held out the Danishes.

Sighing, Sean took the box and said, “Tell you what, if you can find the file on Annette’s robbery, you can read it. It used to be filed under
R
for Robbery.”

Made sense.

As Sean dove into the Danishes, I took off the flannel coat, pulled open the first filing drawer, and began to search. After a few minutes, Roxy’s filing system became clear. Public nuisance reports were filed under
C
for Cow Tipping. Automobile accidents were in the
F
drawer for Fender Bender, and all drunk-and-disorderly records were listed under
P
for Pete’s Pub.

Mildly disturbed that I was following Roxy’s train of thought, I dove into the
T
drawer. Eureka! There were the case folders for the Thanksgiving Day robberies. I found the file devoted to Annette’s break-ins, flipped to the list in question, and felt my pulse spike.

There in the middle of the list was a name I not only recognized but knew had been connected to other thefts over a dozen years ago. Thefts Sean and the sheriff’s department knew nothing about.

I had my first suspect.

Six

I copied the list into my
handy-dandy notebook, refiled the folder, and slammed the drawer closed with a satisfying thud. It was time to hit the road.

Grabbing my borrowed coat, I turned toward the door and found my path blocked by a baffled, Danish-holding Sean. “You found what you were looking for? How did you manage that?”

“Maybe it was my keen investigative skills,” I quipped.

“More likely it was dumb luck.”

I wanted to be offended, but Sean wasn’t far off the mark.

“If I didn’t know better,” he said, brushing Danish crumbs off his shirt, “I’d have thought you and Roxy plotted this whole files debacle just to drive me crazy. As it is, you drive me crazy enough all on your own.” He took a step closer. “You have a suspect. Who is it?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

He smiled and took another step toward me. “Your eyebrow goes up when you’re lying.”

Crap. I’d been trying to control that. Apparently, all my practicing in the mirror had yet to pay off.

“That’s okay,” Sean said, taking another step closer. “I’ll find out who it is eventually. Just remember, Rebecca…” His eyes met mine. Sweat prickled at the back of my neck. Sean reached out and tucked a plasticized strand of hair behind my ear. His smile vanished. “I’m watching you.”

Yikes.

Skirting around Sean and the piles of folders strewn across the floor, I headed for the door.

“Oh, Rebecca.”

I stiffened and turned. “Yes.”

“Nice shirt.”

I looked down, remembered I was wearing Lionel’s shirt, and felt my cheeks start to burn. My archnemesis knew I’d had a sleepover with Lionel. I wanted to scream or say something pithy that would wipe off the smirk that I was certain was gracing Sean’s handsome, albeit annoying, face. Instead, I did what any self-respecting girl would do.

I bolted.

My face was still hot when I exchanged the flannel coat for my puffy one. I was thankful the weather made everyone in the dry cleaners think I was cold instead of mortified. To avoid future embarrassment, I steered my car to the rink. A quick shower and change of clothes later and I’d almost convinced myself Sean was simply complimenting my sense of style. While my lying needed work, my denial skills were coming along nicely.

Now that my hair could move and my clothes weren’t broadcasting my newly rejuvenated sex life, I headed to the north side of town, where I was certain I’d find the person I needed to question: Doc Truman’s nurse and all-around girl Friday, Eleanor Schaffer.

Sure enough, Eleanor was exactly where I expected to find her—soothing sick patients and handing out lollipops in the reception area of Doc Truman’s office. A little blond girl raced around the room, singing at the top of her lungs, while Eleanor talked to her harried mother about a follow-up appointment to make sure little Bianca was no longer contagious and could return to school. The girl in question shoved her fingers in her mouth and then proceeded to rub them on the table, two of the four waiting-area chairs, the counter, and her mother’s jeans. Little Bianca was an epidemic waiting to happen.

Once Bubonic Bianca and her mother were safely out of my airspace, I sat on a chair untouched by Bianca’s slobber-coated fingers and waited for Eleanor to escort the remaining patient back to see Doc Truman. When she returned five minutes later, she gave me a weak smile and dropped her ample body into one of the waiting-room chairs with a thud.

“What a day. Our part-time receptionist just quit, and almost every second grader in Mrs. Malarky’s class has lice.”

“Lice?” I reached up and touched my freshly washed hair.

Eleanor waved off my concern. “Just make sure none of the kids take skating lessons until they’ve been cleared to go back to school and you’ll be fine.” She squinted at me from behind her fake eyelashes. “Speaking of fine, what are you doing here? I hope you’re not sick. Not with the wedding only a week and a half away.”

“I’m good.” Ignoring the desire to scratch my scalp, I said, “Mrs. Johnson hired me to look into the Thanksgiving Day thefts.”

Eleanor smiled. “Ethel said something about that this morning when she called to ask if I’d heard anything about Ginny’s funeral service. Everyone I’ve talked to is heartbroken about Ginny’s passing. Especially since so many of us talked to her at Danielle’s bridal shower just before she passed on. She was so happy and energetic, talking about her upcoming trip. I guess it just goes to show that you have to live every moment to the fullest because you just never know when you’re going to go.”

I thought back to the last conversation I had with my mother. Mom talked about the new improvements to the rink and how she planned on celebrating their completion by coming to visit me. She wanted to see a play, kayak down the Chicago River, and go shopping on Michigan Avenue. We were going to have an entire week to ourselves. The next day she was gone.

Tears lodged in my throat and burned the back of my eyes. I couldn’t help it. Not a day went by that I didn’t miss Mom and wish she hadn’t left me alone.

Swallowing down the lump of emotion, I changed the subject back to one that wouldn’t evoke tears. “I’ve been talking to the victims of the robberies. Annette mentioned you were in the salon the day before her house was broken into.”

“I’ve had my hair done the day before Thanksgiving for twenty years.” Eleanor smiled. “My appointment for next Wednesday was made six months ago. Good thing, too. The salon has been booked solid ever since your father got everyone dreaming about being in magazines. I have my photo shoot scheduled for this Friday.”

Of course she did. Biting back a sigh, I reached into my purse and pulled out my notebook. “Do you remember hearing Annette say that she was going out of town for the holiday?”

“Sure. I was relieved that she was getting out of town before her rat of an ex-boyfriend could sweet-talk her into thinking about reconciliation.”

“Did you talk about Annette’s travel plans to anyone after you left the salon?”

“Lord, just about everyone was talking about Annette’s breakup and wondering if she’d take the skunk back. Annette has great business sense but terrible taste in men. I remember telling Joey that I was relieved she was leaving town. If she hadn’t, I might have suggested to Joey that he ask her out.”

Bingo.

“Joey knew Annette was going away. Did he also know where Doc Truman and his wife were spending the Thanksgiving holiday when their house was broken into?”

“Well, of course he knew. I asked him to help me water their plants and let their dog, Rusty, out when…” Eleanor’s eyes went wide. “You think my Joey is the Thanksgiving Day thief? Sheriff Jackson and Deputy Holmes never questioned him, let alone said he was a suspect.”

That’s because the sheriff and Sean didn’t know what I knew. One night when I was fourteen, I couldn’t sleep and went down to the rink, hoping to raid the snack bar. Instead of indigestion, I found seventeen-year-old Joey Schaffer with one hand in the cash register and a bag of Fritos in the other. Faced with an intruder, I did the only thing I could think to do. I grabbed a nearby broom, brandished it like a sword, and screamed, hoping my mother would hear the sound from our apartment.

She did.

Twenty minutes later, Eleanor and her husband were standing next to their youngest son, begging my mother not to call the cops. They didn’t want one mistake to ruin his chances of college and a good future. The next day, my mother installed a new lock on the front door, and Joey was shipped off to live with his grandmother for senior year.

“They might if I told them about the theft at the rink.”

Eleanor glanced at the door to Doc’s office and whispered, “You’re not going to tell them, are you?”

In movies, private detectives were smart. They were ruthless. They demanded the truth. I wasn’t up to demanding. Especially not when faced with tears and a quivering lower lip.

Sighing, I said, “I don’t want to cast suspicion on anyone unless I know they’re behind the thefts, especially not Joey. I like him.” At least I did when we were in high school. Our paths hadn’t crossed much since I’d returned to Indian Falls. “Does he have an alibi for the thefts? If so, he’s off the hook. If not…” I frowned.

Eleanor sucked in air. We stared at each other, waiting to see who would blink first.

Eleanor did. She looked down at her hands as a tear streaked down her face.

“He doesn’t have alibis. Does he?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “When Bernie died twelve years ago, I started spending Thanksgiving at one of my daughters’ houses. Joey never wants to go. He prefers to pay a visit to his dad’s grave and spend the rest of the holiday alone. Everyone around here just assumes he goes with me. I’ve never said different. At first because it was no one’s business but Joey’s, and then because I was worried.”

“Then he might have something to do with the robberies?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know.” Eleanor pushed out of the chair and grabbed a tissue from a box on the counter. “Joey’s always been my quiet child. With five older sisters, he never had a chance to get a word into the conversation. He broke into your mother’s rink because he wanted attention.”

“He got it.”

Eleanor sighed. “Yes, he did, and he never lost it. He lives rent-free. He has a good job. Joey would have no reason to break into anyone’s home and steal.” She turned and looked me dead in the eye. “I promise you, Rebecca, my boy isn’t the person behind these crimes.”

Conviction filled her voice. This wasn’t the same tone she used when snowing kids into believing that a shot wasn’t going to hurt. I should know. Growing up, I fell for that line every time.