Skating Under the Wire: A Mystery (Rebecca Robbins Mysteries) (6 page)

“Hmm…” I grunted and took slow breaths, hoping Lionel would think I was asleep. Asleep meant I could pretend he’d never said it. He would think I’d never heard those words. He wouldn’t expect me to tell him how I felt about them, which was good because I doubted the right response to that declaration was hyperventilation.

To avoid the need for a paper bag, I slowly breathed in and out and worked hard to keep my expression slack. I even added some drool to the mix. When I was a kid, I did the possum routine all the time. Mom never questioned it. Maybe Lionel wouldn’t question it now.

After several very long minutes, Lionel’s breathing slowed and deepened. The arm around me loosened its grip until, finally, I was certain Lionel slept.

Hallelujah.

Careful not to jostle him, I slipped out of bed, ducked into the master bathroom, and locked the door behind me. Wrapping a towel around my body, I sat on the edge of the bathtub and put a hand on my jittery stomach. I needed to get a grip and think. In the past, Lionel had danced around the L-word. Now that he had said it aloud, I wasn’t sure what to do about it. Chemistry was one thing. Love was something very different. I’d never been in love with a capital
L.
Not unless you counted the time Connor Sheppard gave me his last piece of Halloween candy when we were in the first grade. I mean, what girl could resist a snack-sized Snickers?

This wasn’t elementary school, though. Heck, this wasn’t even a college crush on the sexy debate team guy who used his powers of persuasion to talk me out of my clothes. This was Lionel. A man who was not only a great kisser but one of my closest friends. While I didn’t want to lose the kissing benefits, I would hate to lose my friend more. Love made people do wacky things. Love created expectations. Those expectations meant people could get hurt. Badly. My ex-boss Neil proved that months ago. His belief that he was in love with me caused both emotional and physical injuries. And look at my former roommate, Jasmine. The phone call I’d received two weeks ago involved lots of tears, loud shouting, and even louder sounds of breaking glass. Jasmine didn’t cope well with breakups.

Love, or unreturned love, could cause pain. I didn’t want to hurt Lionel. Without having ever been in love, I was totally unqualified to understand my own feelings or deal with his. This could be very, very bad.

Of course, I thought, it could also be good. I mean, Lionel was smart. He was handsome, stable, and kind to animals. Heck, he even liked my grandfather—spandex, sequins, and all. Lionel was exactly the kind of guy I’d hoped to fall in love with. Who knows? Maybe I was in love and I just wasn’t experienced enough with relationships to know it. If so, there was no need to panic.

Tiptoeing back into the bedroom, I slid under the covers and turned to look at Lionel’s handsome face. What I needed was a sign. Something to tell me that I was in love. Lightning striking. A rooster crowing. Anything.

Lionel’s eyes blinked open. “Can’t sleep?” he asked.

“Guess not.”

His mouth curled into a smile, and he pulled me close. “Well, let’s see if we can’t fix that.”

Yowzah. Talk about a sign.

*

The problem with spending the night in a strange bed is that upon waking you have to deal with a strange toothbrush. It didn’t matter that I’d swapped more than saliva with Lionel last night; the thought of using his toothbrush totally wigged me out.

After using my fingers and a wad of toothpaste, I went in search of the sweater I’d worn yesterday. Hmm … the sweater was wrinkled, dotted with red sauce, and ripped at the neckline where it had gotten caught on my watch. Not exactly the fashion statement I was going for. Figuring Lionel wouldn’t mind my borrowing something of his, I slid on a deep purple dress shirt, tied it in a knot at my waist, and went in search of the shirt’s owner.

The note on the table told me he was called away due to a heifer emergency and he would call me later. I felt a flood of both disappointment and relief that the note wasn’t signed with the L-word. Was I screwed up or what?

Pulling on my puffy white coat, I grabbed my purse and ruined sweater and walked to my car. Yesterday, the weatherman had said today was going to be sunny and above freezing. The weatherman lied. Arctic wind howled. Sleet fell from the gray sky. By the time I opened the car door and slid inside, my teeth were chattering. Reminding myself I needed to buy a new pair of gloves, I slid my key into the ignition, cranked the heat, and waited until I could see past my frosty breath in order to drive.

I’d finally stopped shivering by the time I climbed out of my car and strolled across the parking lot of the Toe Stop Roller Rink. Every morning, I checked in with my unofficial rink manager, George. At least twice a week, I asked George to delete the unofficial from the title. For some reason, he was willing to handle most of the rink’s day-to-day operations but refused to accept the moniker or pay raise that went along with it. George was afraid of commitment. I thought back to Lionel’s declaration last night and felt my mind go fuzzy. Yep. George wasn’t the only one with a fear of permanency.

The
Phantom of the Opera
soundtrack was blaring when I walked through the rink doors. George waved from the middle of the floor as Missy Boys did cross pulls to pick up speed. She approached the far end of the rink and then kicked her free foot forward and leaped off the ground. One and a half rotations in the air later, she landed on two feet before smashing to the ground.

Ouch.

George zipped to where she had fallen, made sure she was okay, and then watched her climb upright before he told her to try it again. Two weeks ago, George had convinced me to set up a big-screen television on the sidelines so everyone could watch the World Roller Figure Skating Championships. Since figure skating wasn’t exactly a national pastime, I figured the rink would be empty. Imagine my surprise when the place was packed. I was even more stunned when George announced he was starting a figure skating club in order to train students to compete at the national level next year. So far, he had two dozen students working toward that goal. Missy was one of them.

Double ouch. Missy skidded face-first across the floor.

I winced, then watched with admiration as she scrambled back onto her wheels and immediately launched herself into the routine again. If all of George’s students had her determination, the skating club would do well when they started competition in the spring. Only time would tell.

The music ended. Missy rolled to the sidelines for water and splinter removal. I waved to her and yelled to George, “Do you need me to handle anything this morning?”

“Not that I can think of.” George executed a perfect T-stop in front of me. “I have three more private lessons before open session this afternoon. Oh, and Kristin Chapman’s mom called to tell us Kristin can’t work this week. Which is understandable, considering.”

I blinked. “Considering what?”

“Considering what happened yesterday?” George frowned. When I didn’t respond, he put his hand on his hip and stared at me harder.

Oh my God!

My cheeks started to burn as I thought about what had happened yesterday and once this morning. Had someone noticed my car at Lionel’s place? Did the entire town know I was sleeping with him? Did Kristin’s mother think I was a bad role model for her daughter?

The urge to stammer and run from the room was strong, kind of like the time my mother caught me and Michael Markson making out behind the snack counter.

When I didn’t say anything, George sighed. “Kristin is Ginny Chapman’s granddaughter. Kristin is going to watch her brothers and sisters while her mother makes the funeral arrangements.”

Oh. My stomach clenched with sympathy. I knew what Kristin’s mother was going through. A year and a half ago, I had to bury my mom. Not a day went by that I didn’t wish for one more moment with her.

“Tell Kristin to take off as much time as she needs. Do you want me to cover her shifts?”

George shook his head. “You can’t catch the Thanksgiving Day thief if you always have to be here. I’ve got it covered.”

I was about to ask how he knew about my investigation of the thefts when the “Wedding March” blared from my cell phone.

The bride-to-be was calling and bubbling with happiness. Or maybe it was hysteria. Sometimes the two were hard to tell apart—especially when the person on the phone was speaking so fast she forgot to breathe.

Before I could ask her to slow down, Danielle said something about her mother-in-law and needing to change the appointment at Annette’s. “Annette only has one time she can see us.”

“Which is when?” I asked, taking advantage of Danielle’s need to gasp oxygen.

“Well … um … now. See you in a few minutes.”

Click.

Oy. Part of me wanted to call Danielle back and tell her I couldn’t make it. After all, I had a life. I had responsibilities. Just because I signed on to wear an ugly dress didn’t mean I had to drop my plans at a moment’s notice. Of course, my righteous indignation would be better served if I actually had any plans to drop. Since my only plan was to question Annette about her unfortunate part in the Thanksgiving thefts, I didn’t have much to complain about.

Yelling to George that I’d be back later, I shoved my hands into my pockets and headed back into the cold.

Shear Highlights was located a couple of blocks away on the north side of town. Annette had opened the place when I was in high school with the money she’d inherited from her great-aunt Alma. Mom had worried about Annette sinking every cent into the place. She’d thought it would be safer for Annette to open something smaller and save money for a rainy day. Annette thanked my mother for her concern and then turned around and bought not only the shop but the entire building. Annette said Aunt Alma would have approved. Since Alma’s final moments involved a deep-sea diving expedition and a cranky shark, I was pretty sure Annette was right. Caution didn’t rate high on Alma’s list. Until I moved back to Indian Falls, I thought being careful rated high on mine. Of course, that was before the dead bodies, the exploding cars, and a sexy vet with incredible hands.

Thinking about those incredible hands was probably what distracted me as I walked into Indian Falls’ only salon. Had I not been remembering the way he made my toes curl, I probably would have noticed the large purple roller before it hit me upside the head.

Five

“Direct hit, and there’s more
where that came from, you thief.”

I turned toward the crackly voice and ducked. A large yellow comb sailed over my head and smacked into the wall behind me.

“Hey,” I yelped as a group of senior women glared at me from under three industrial-sized dryers. Too bad my protest was drowned out by a shriek of “Get her!”

Yikes.

Pink and purple foam curlers flew from all directions. A gob of green goo splatted across the front of my puffy white jacket. Then another. Which is why I did the only thing any self-respecting person could do. I hid.

Diving behind the currently unoccupied receptionist podium, I yelled for everyone to stop. The curlers and combs kept flying. Whoever said aerosol hair spray was dangerous was right. These women had clearly OD’d on the stuff.

“Stop. Stop. Stop,” a sweet but firm voice demanded. “Violet—put down that brush this instant. You could hurt someone with it. What do you think you’re doing?”

Now that the primping projectiles had halted, I braved a glance around the podium. Tiny Ethel Jacabowski stood in the center aisle, wagging a finger at her fellow salon customers. At least, I thought it was Ethel. The silver foil sticking out of her hair and the black smock around her neck made her look more like Frankenstein’s grandmother than the woman I’d talked with yesterday.

A woman I assumed must be Violet put down a silver roller brush and frowned. “Nan said Rebecca was the Thanksgiving Day thief and we should all call the cops.”

“I never said that.” Nan ducked out from under a dryer and shook her curler-coated head. “You shouldn’t eavesdrop on other people’s conversations, Vi, especially when you’re under the dryer with your hearing aid turned off. I was telling Ethel that Rebecca was going to catch the Thanksgiving Day thief and beat the cops.” Nan gave me a small smile. “Sorry about the misunderstanding, dear. I hope you won’t tell your grandfather.”

Nan was one of Pop’s admirers. She’d even taken up roller skating in order to snag him. A choice the rink’s bank account appreciated even if my grandfather had failed to notice.

“I won’t tell Pop,” I assured her. I was about to ask her about her theft when I noticed the foam curlers in her hand. “But if you knew I wasn’t the thief, why were you throwing things at me?”

“I thought this was a new wedding tradition like throwing rice. I didn’t want to be left out.”

I was about to point out that this wasn’t a church and I wasn’t the bride when Annette came hurrying out of the back of the salon. “What’s going on out here? What happened to Michelle?”

Michelle was Annette’s newest hire. From the look in my godmother’s eyes, I was guessing the
HELP WANTED
sign wouldn’t be collecting dust for long.

“Michelle needed a smoke.” Ethel took a seat in one of the red vinyl chairs and picked up an issue of
Cosmo.
“We told her we’d hold down the fort until she got back.”

The bell on the door jingled, and the girl in question walked in. She took one look at Annette’s face, glanced down at the curler-laden floor, and went racing for a broom. My assailants shrugged and went back to whatever they’d been doing before I walked through the door.

When Michelle returned with cleaning supplies and a contrite expression, Annette sighed and motioned for me to follow her down the salon’s center aisle. “I’m sorry about your jacket. I should have known better than to leave Michelle alone with that group, but Danielle was so upset, I had to take her into the back to calm her down. Give me your coat. I’ll run it over to the dry cleaners while you talk to Danielle. She’s through there.”