Bike Week Blues (14 page)

Ruthie nodded. “She’s about as high-strung
as a mandolin. Of course, I’m not feeling great myself. All this
stuff with Rich and Vulture has made me a nervous wreck. I keep
taking deep breaths and repeating my mantra, but it’s not
working.”

An electronic screech and “Halt, who goes
there?” nearly sent me through the roof. Damn. I folded my arms on
the counter and put my head down, trying to calm my racing heart. I
guess I was more than a little tense myself. A moment later, Lu Nee
2 whirred into the room.

“What are you doing, Penny Sue?”

“I’m setting Lu Nee up for guard duty.
Somebody’s out to get us.” She flipped the switch to the spotlights
on the deck. “This isn’t turtle season, is it?” I shook my head.
“Good, then I think we need to keep all the outside lights on and
post Lu Nee in here to watch the glass doors.”

“Those doors are alarmed like the rest of
the place,” I reminded her.

“Studies show that a good smash and grab
artist is in and out in three minutes. By the time the police
arrive, a crook would be long gone and so would we!”

Terrific, so much for the sense of security
I’d gotten from the new alarm system. “What’s the point of an alarm
then?”

“To scare off amateurs.” She pushed a
vertical blind to the side and peeked out on the deck. “Good,
bright as day out there.” She turned toward us with her hands on
her hips. “Where’s the Taser and its charger?”

I motioned to the linen closet. “Do you
think professional hit men are after you?”

“Maybe,” she said, hauling the Taser,
charger, and electrolyte solution to the table in the dining area.
“As I said before, Daddy’s locked up his share of druggies over the
years. That’s why I have to be so careful. A lot of them would love
to get even with Daddy through me.”

Since we were her friends, that put us on
the front line, too.

Ruthie poured three mugs of coffee. “I think
we should go back to Atlanta tomorrow.”

“Run away, and let the scum balls win? No
way. We’re going to stay here and fight. Stand up for our
rights!”

I dumped a big glob of milk into my coffee.
Fight—I had no intention of fighting anyone. This wasn’t Bunker
Hill. There was no high-minded principle at stake, just our
personal safety. And, I took my safety very seriously.

The doorbell rang, followed by a loud knock.
“Wait,” Penny Sue said, taking her revolver from her purse and
slipping it out of its holster. “You see who it is, Leigh. I’ll
keep you covered.”

“You’re scaring me, Penny Sue,” Ruthie said.
“Put the gun away. It must be Ted.”

“Yes, put it away.”

“Look, it’s not cocked.” She angled it
toward the side wall. “It’s just ready, in case.”

“In case of what?” The doorbell rang again
and I started down the hall.

“In case someone followed us home.”

I stopped cold.

“Wait,” Ruthie called, eyes wide. She
scooped up the Taser and slapped in the batteries. Crouching low,
she followed me down the hall, the weapon trained at the door. I
paused to gather the nerve to look through the peephole, an image
of bullets and mortars crashing through the door at the back of my
mind. I took a deep breath, closed one eye and peered through the
tiny opening. Another loud knock sent me reeling, knocking Ruthie
flat on her back. Penny Sue appeared at the end of the hall, her
gun cocked. Lu Nee 2 swiveled around crying “Halt! Who goes there?
Halt! Who goes there?”

“Leigh, it’s me. Ted Moore. Are you all
right? Open up!”

“Just a minute,” I called, helping Ruthie to
her feet. As I opened the door, a screech from the burglar alarm
warned it was still armed. Penny Sue lunged for the control panel,
bumping Lu Nee 2 in the process. The crazed robot launched into a
litany of “Watch out, that hurt. Halt! Where did that come from?
Halt! Who goes there?”

Ted shook his head with wonder at the scene.
Ruthie and I were standing meekly by the door, our hair and clothes
askew, with Ruthie trying to hide the Taser behind her back, which
was futile since she was skinny and the darned weapon was the size
of a large super soaker water rifle. Penny Sue, revolver in one
hand, was crouched over the robot trying to turn it off. She wasn’t
meeting with much success. Lights flashing, the little demon’s head
whirred from side-to-side as it babbled and sang, “Hello, hello,
hello! Take me to your leader! Help! I’ve fallen and I can’t get
up!”

Ted began to laugh—not a chuckle, but a
full-fledged belly laugh. “What are you ladies doing?”

“It’s her fault,” I said, pointing at Penny
Sue. “Rambo, here, scared the wits out of Ruthie and me. She said
someone might have followed us home.”

“Did you notice anyone behind you?” he asked
as he closed the door.

Ruthie and I exchanged glances. “No,” I said
slowly. “Come to think of it, we even commented on how empty the
streets were after we reached the island.” I scowled at Penny Sue.
“In fact, you said everyone was still at the Pub.”

She straightened to face me, having finally
silenced the robot. “Someone could have been following with their
lights off.”

“Hardly,” Ruthie said, giving Penny Sue a
dirty look, too. “The area around Publix is lit up like a Christmas
tree. We would have noticed someone behind us.”

“Don’t blame me if y’all are hysterics.” She
tossed her hair and started for the kitchen. “Like a cup of coffee,
Ted? Decaf.”

“That would be nice.” We headed to the
living room, Ruthie stopping long enough to deposit the Taser back
in the linen closet.

Penny Sue, having now transitioned from
Rambo to June Cleaver, passed around mugs of coffee and even
produced a plate of sugar cookies. Still grinning, Ted studied
us.

“I checked your car on the way in. It’s
definitely a bullet hole, this one from close range because it went
through your plate and made a nice dent in the trunk. I called in a
report to the New Smyrna Police on the way over. They’ll send
someone out in the morning to get your statement.”

“What do you think?” Ruthie asked
nervously.

Ted took a bite of a cookie as he considered
the possibilities. “If it weren’t for the murder, I’d say it was an
immature prank. Someone with a grudge because you cut them off in
traffic or something.”

“Penny Sue, maybe it’s Shrewella, getting
even for your cayenne pepper prank. That was mean,” I reminded
her.

“Get real. That old lady may have a gun, but
haven’t you noticed how her hand shakes? There’s no way she could
shoot the middle out of the P’s.”

“The lab can’t make a positive ID, because
of the condition of the slug, though chances are the same gun was
used for the first shot and the murder,” Ted said.

“Shrewella might shoot you or your car, but
she wouldn’t shoot a stranger.”

Penny Sue raked her fingers through her
hair. “Heck, with her shaky hands, maybe the murder was the
accident.”

“Oh, please.”

“Could be, you don’t know.”

I ignored the comment. “Ted, what do you
think we should do?”

“Go home—that’s what we should do,” Ruthie
flared.

“This
is
my home, Ruthie. I have a
job; I can’t just leave.”

“Wait,” Ted said, patting the air in a
calming manner.

It was a gesture Zack used all the time that
I’d really come to detest. It always struck me as condescending,
and I hated to think Ted had anything in common with Zack.

“Let’s look at this logically,” Ted
continued.

Boy, he was on thin ice now—the implication
being that we weren’t capable of logic.

“There’s a connection between the murder and
vandalism, no doubt. Penny Sue, is there any way Rich could have a
grudge against you?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Well, do you think he’s all there? I mean,
could Rich have psychological problems like multiple
personalities?”

“No! He’s always been a perfect gentleman.
I’ve never seen any indication of instability.”

I examined my nails. Was she a good judge of
that? Her own behavior had been pretty erratic recently.

“Okay,” Ted patted the air again. “I think
you should keep your car parked for now. Can you put it in the
garage?”

Penny Sue answered. “There is no garage. We
partitioned it off for storage and a larger utility room. Bicycles
and the Harley take up what little room there is.”

“Well, I don’t think you should drive the
Mercedes until we figure out how all of this fits together.”

“I’ll rent a car. Leigh’s bug is for
midgets.”

“Sh-h, let him finish,” I said.

“I recommend you lay low and stay away from
Bike Week events.”

Penny Sue’s jaw tightened. I knew what was
going through her mind. She was still planning to pursue Rich.

“Finally,” Ted said, setting his mug on the
table, “I strongly suggest you leave your revolver at home.”

“What, and run around unprotected? I carry
it because I’m in constant danger. Daddy’s locked up his share
of—”

Ted stood. “I know. It was a suggestion.
Like I said before, there are some tough hombres in town for Bike
Week. Your little revolver would make them laugh.”

“I’ll think about it,” Penny Sue said in a
tone that meant it was already forgotten.

“We really appreciate your help,” I added
quickly.

Ted nodded. “I’ll call tomorrow to check on
you. Expect the New Smyrna police sometime in the morning.”

Goody, I thought. The police again.

* * *

I slept fitfully,
my mind churning
with Ann, Zack, Vulture—even Uga, the University of Georgia mascot
was part of the mix. Every few minutes, I rolled over and glanced
at the clock. At 2:22 a.m. I realized this had been happening more
and more—the sleep problems, that is. I dozed, but awoke angry—Uga
had pooped in the middle of the living room floor as Lu Nee 2 ran
in circles shouting Halt! Halt! I checked the time. Damn, only
2:48.

Was I keyed up from the day, or was this one
of the dreaded signs of perimenopause? No, of course not—I was
keyed up. After all, I hadn’t had night sweats, not really. The
condo’s thermostat allowed too much variation, that’s all. But,
Penny Sue was another matter. Crying over Rich was understandable,
but the episode at the Pub was completely out of character. She
needed to have her prescription checked, I thought. I’d talk to
Ruthie first thing in the morning and see if we couldn’t come up
with a delicate way to broach the subject.

I drifted off again. Ann, Zack, and I were
chatting over tea. Ann said she was having hot flashes, was so
thrilled that she and Patrick were moving to Outer Mongolia. She’d
already purchased a tiger skin snowsuit for the baby. You know,
like the tigers in the Siegfried & Roy show. The next moment we
were in a car, driving on the wrong side of the road. A rickety
double-decker bus was headed straight for us! I awoke with a start.
3:13.

“You all right? You yelped.” Ruthie asked
from the next bed. She rose up on her elbow and looked at the
clock. “Three-thirteen, the witching hour.”

“I’m okay. Weird dreams … I’ve hardly slept
a wink.”

“Me, either. Why don’t we get a cup of hot
chocolate? Maybe that will help.”

I checked to make sure Penny Sue’s door was
closed so we wouldn’t disturb her, tiptoed into the kitchen and
hopped on the stool farthest from the hall. I watched as Ruthie put
on the teakettle and dumped packets of cocoa mix into mugs. “You
said 3:13 was the witching hour. What does that mean?”

“It’s the time of day when things are
quietest and the electromagnetic gibberish is at its lowest level,
which makes it easy for communication to bleed through from other
realms. The time when the veil separating dimensions is
thinnest.”

I could feel a metaphysical bombshell
coming. “Other realms? Like this three-dimensional plane and the
astral plane?”

She handed me a cup of cocoa. “There’s more
to it than that—celestial realms as well as an infinite number of
other dimensions.”

I blew on my chocolate before taking a sip.
“This is the multi-dimensional reality you talk about? The new
physics, quantum mechanics, that says there’s no linear time and
everything is happening simultaneously?”

“Right.”

“So, this bleed through happens every night
at 3:13?”

“Not at that time exactly, but typically
between two and four in the morning. There’s nothing to be afraid
of—it merely means you’re more susceptible to psychic impressions
from other realms. And when the info comes in, you’re more likely
to wake up.”

I had to admit that my waking at 3:13 a.m.
happened a lot—more frequently than statistics would predict.
Statistics was not my best subject in college, but I knew the
number of times I’d awakened at that particular time far exceeded
normal probabilities. Was someone trying to communicate with
me?

Grammy Martin would be my first guess,
though I hadn’t heard any Bible quotations. A staunch Southern
Baptist with a photographic mind, Grammy could, and did, provide
Biblical guidance in virtually every situation when I was growing
up.

A jewel of gold in a swine’s snout, so is
a fair woman which is without discretion.
From Proverbs, the
quote popped in my mind out of the blue. I immediately associated
it with Grammy and knew it referred to Penny Sue. I stared at the
ceiling.
Grammy, is that you? What are you trying to tell
me?

And, if Grammy was contacting me at 3:13,
was there someone else at 2:48? Did my dream about Ann and the bus
smashing into the car mean anything? My head suddenly felt full. I
took a big draw of the cocoa.
Change the subject,
I told
myself.

“Do you think Penny Sue is acting
strangely?” I asked. There, shift the blame, get my attention off
myself.