“Why would they arrest me?”
Kimmie smiled at Ashlee like they shared a big secret. “You know why.”
Ashlee stepped up to Kimmie so they were toe to toe. “No, I don’t. You’re going to need to spell it out for me.”
Kimmie’s eyes narrowed, but her smile never faltered. “Fine. Everyone knows you’re a killer.”
I gaped at Kimmie. Did she really just say that?
Ashlee stood a little taller, seemingly unfazed. “Did one of your customers tell you that? Maybe you should worry less about me and more about your food. I hear you serve frozen scallops at that restaurant of yours.”
Kimmie gasped. “I do not!”
“Order up!”
Thank God.
I snatched the cardboard containers from the takeout window and shoved Ashlee toward the stairs. “’Bye, Kimmie. Gotta go see the rally.”
I hustled Ashlee in front of me, but she managed to crane her head around for one last comment. “By the way, your roots are showing.”
I glanced back in time to see Kimmie slap a hand on top of her head, then concentrated on fighting my way through the crowd.
When I reached the bottom of the stairs, I inspected the food in my hands. Three burgers peeked out at me from beneath yellow paper.
“Where’s my Diet Coke?” Ashlee asked.
And where was my corn dog? I’d been so caught up in what Kimmie had said that I’d flubbed the entire order.
“I’ll grab your soda in a bit. Have a burger.”
She stared at the open cardboard boxes in my outstretched hands, shrugged, and grabbed one. Guess her jean skirt had a little give after all.
I balanced the remaining two boxes in one hand and pulled out the tickets, searching for the seat numbers. Crusher had hooked us up with seats only three rows back and on the end of the aisle so we wouldn’t have to climb over anyone to get to the bathroom or food stands. Nice.
We sat down, and I surveyed the crowd. Everyone was chowing down on burgers and hot dogs, chugging beer, and chatting up their seat mates. I finished the last bite of my second burger, my stomach grumbling in protest, and crumpled up the wrapper.
Below us, shells of Volkswagen beetles and compacts, painted green, purple, or yellow, windows and all, sat wedged between mounds of dirt in the center of the arena. A stoplight-type contraption hung against a pole to the side. American flags hung from the light posts. Several more had been stretched along the boards that lined the track.
A roar rose from the crowd, competing with the sound of an engine as a monster truck rolled onto the course, kicking up dust. The sides were painted in a tiger-stripe pattern; giant flaming eyes stared from the hood and long fangs protruded from the grill. The oversize tires looked cartoonishly inflated, as though Bugs Bunny might suddenly show up and pop one with a giant needle. The driver sat square in the middle of the cab and waved through the grimy windshield.
The crowd’s yelling grew to a feverish pitch as a second truck, this one painted like a ghost, zoomed out. I clapped my hands over my ears. Whose idea was this again?
The trucks drove around until they were at opposite points on the circular track, then the stoplight turned green. Each truck scrambled forward, accompanied by more cheering as they raced around the track, leaping over the outermost dirt piles.
I leaned toward Ashlee, who was busily texting. “Why did they start so far apart? How can they race like that?”
She glanced toward the track, then down at her phone, her fingers never slowing. “It’s based on time, not actual racing. Whoever drives the fastest moves on to the next round.”
“You mean there are more than these two trucks?”
Ashlee snorted in response.
Then again, two trucks would make for a very short rally. Plus, I hadn’t seen Crusher yet, and I knew he was competing tonight.
The two trucks stopped racing, and the guy in the ghost truck pumped his fist in the air while the announcer on the loudspeaker rattled off a time. The first strains of “Stars and Stripes” blared from the same loudspeaker as the trucks cleared the track. I used the break to study the crowd.
To my right and a few rows up, a flash of cheetah print caught my eye. Who did that remind me of? The woman turned in my direction. Tara, Donald’s wife. As I watched, she squeezed past the other people in the aisle and headed toward the concession stand.
I whipped around to Ashlee. “I’ll get your Coke now.”
“Diet,” Ashlee said, as if I needed yet another reminder.
Jumping from my seat, I trotted after Tara, following her progress as she climbed the stairs and headed away from me. I thought she’d stop at the closest food stand, but she passed it without slowing. Heading to the bathroom maybe? Nope, she walked right by the entrance. I followed her across the concrete expanse, down a flight of steps, and over to a large patio area.
A cluster of people stood in the fenced-in space, all puffing on cigarettes. Aha. Now it made sense.
Tara joined the group, a cigarette and lighter already in her grasp, like a sleight-of-hand magic trick you wouldn’t want your kids to see. She caught sight of me as I struggled to think up an excuse for my presence.
“Hey, didn’t I see you yesterday?” she asked. She flicked the lighter, touched her cigarette to the flame, and inhaled.
Busted. “Tara, right? I’m Dana. We spoke outside your gas station.” Technically her husband’s station, but that sounded rude.
“Yeah, I remember now.” She noticed my empty hands. “Do you smoke?”
“Uh, no, I mean, um, I used to?” She remained silent as she tapped ash off the tip of her cigarette, and I plunged ahead. “I quit a while back, but I miss this.” I gestured with my arm at the other smokers, some coughing, others checking their phones or fidgeting with their lighters.
Tara immediately nodded. “I know, right? People don’t understand how smoking brings everyone together. They keep banning it everywhere, thinking people will feel all lonely and give it up. But the fewer places there are to smoke, the more people will have to hang around the same places. It’s like our own private club.”
Huh, I’d never thought of it that way before. Maybe I should send an e-mail to the anti-smoking lobbyists with this bit of insight.
“The only thing is I have to make sure Donald doesn’t catch me. Lucky for me, he’s sponsoring one of the trucks and wanted to talk to the driver about where to place the sticker for the station.”
Lucky for me, too, since it gave me a chance to talk to Tara alone.
“We never finished our conversation from yesterday,” I said, “and I was really interested in what you had to say.”
Tara flicked more ash. “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”
Because my sister’s boyfriend was murdered? Because the police had their eye on Ashlee, and I needed another suspect? Sure, Maria’s husband was at the top of my list, but it never hurt to have a backup.
I opted for a vague version of the truth. “My sister was dating Bobby Joe, and I’m trying to find out who would want to kill him.”
“So you want to know if Donald did it.”
“No, of course not.” Okay, yes, I’d love to know that, but I couldn’t very well admit it. “If I can find out why Donald was upset with Bobby Joe, it might point me in another direction.”
Tara puffed on her cigarette while she studied me with an intensity that made my insides quiver. She was proving to be shrewder than I’d originally guessed.
“I don’t believe that for a minute,” she said. “But I don’t want you bothering Donald about Bobby Joe anymore. The cops are already pestering us enough. So I’ll tell you, and then you leave us alone. You got it?”
“Got it.” What else could I say? Whether I meant it was another story.
“Donald thought Bobby Joe was skimming off the till.”
First a womanizer, then a possible drug dealer, and now a thief. What the hell kind of guy was Ashlee dating?
“So when Donald sa
id he wouldn’t fire Bobby Joe without proof, he meant that he only suspected Bobby Joe of stealing but didn’t know for sure?”
Tara nodded. “The money kept disappearing during Bobby Joe’s shifts, or at least that’s when Donald would notice. He was gonna install a camera right over the cash register to catch him in the act, but now I guess he doesn’t need to.”
“Did you think Bobby Joe was stealing?”
“Heck no. Bobby Joe was a sweetheart. I told Donald it’s that girl, the new one, but she bats her eyelashes at him and sticks her chest out every time he walks by, so he doesn’t listen to me. And here I’m supposed to be his wife.”
She dropped her cigarette and ground it into the dirt with her strappy heel. She and Ashlee had the same taste in footwear. “Look, I need to get back.” She poked her finger against my breastbone. “Stay away from Donald.”
I batted her finger away. Why was she so afraid of me talking to Donald? “I will if you answer one more question. Where were you and Donald on Thursday night?”
Tara looked like she wanted to poke me again, but she didn’t. “At the gas station, like I always am. Donald was running the store, and I was in the house watching TV. Now, excuse me.” She hurried off.
I watched her go, disappointed. I’d been counting on Tara to reveal a secret worth killing over, but Bobby Joe skimming money was hardly a murdering offense, only something worth firing him over. A slim possibility existed that Donald had confronted Bobby Joe about the theft, lost his temper, and hit him so hard it killed him. But that was as likely as Ashlee wearing white after Labor Day.
Still, I had one more person mad at Bobby Joe. But had Bobby Joe really stolen from the station? The ATM statement in his room had showed such a low balance that he could definitely have used the extra money. I’d have to ask Ashlee if he had carried a lot of cash on their dates.
I climbed the stairs and walked back across the concourse, remembering to stop and grab Ashlee a soda. As I stood behind a sweaty guy with thinning hair, a thunderous roar erupted from the crowd. I whirled around and tried to look over the retaining wall but couldn’t see what the crowd was cheering about. The announcer babbled about a catwalking wheelie, but I could barely hear him over the rest of the noise.
Great, the one big moment at the rally, and I was stuck in line. I picked up my drink a moment later, but by then, the audience had already settled down. “You’re a Grand Old Flag” started playing, another patriotic reminder that tomorrow was the Fourth of July. I should already be in bed, getting a good night’s sleep. With so many guests staying at Esther’s, I was bound to be busy in the morning.
When I returned to our seats with the soda, a grungy-looking guy in his early twenties sat in my spot, his lank body hunched over as he and Ashlee whispered to each other.
“Ahem,” I said.
Guilt flashed across Ashlee’s face.
“Dana, you’re back,” she said.
I held the cup aloft. “Here’s your soda.”
The man jumped up and into the aisle, his ponytail swinging from the movement. “Your throne, milady.”
“Yeah, thanks.” I squeezed past him and sat down, handing Ashlee her soda.
Ashlee giggled. “Isn’t he something?”
“He’s something, all right.” I watched as Ashlee put her thumb to her ear, her pinky to her lips, and mouthed, “Call me,” to her suitor. He blew her a kiss and clomped up the stairs.
I’d only been gone fifteen minutes, and Ashlee had already picked up a new man. Guess he hadn’t heard about Bobby Joe. Or if he had, he didn’t care.
“What was all the excitement about?” I asked.
“He saw me when we went down the stairs to our seats and waited for a chance to talk to me. So romantic.”
“I’m not talking about your love life. I meant what was the crowd cheering about a few minutes ago?”
Ashlee shrugged, losing interest. “I didn’t notice. I was talking to Rusty.”
Did people really name their kids Rusty these days?
“The announcer mentioned a catwalking move,” I prompted.
Ashlee gave me one of her signature looks that let me know I was a total idiot. “Seriously, Dana. This is a truck rally, not a fashion show. There’s no catwalk.”
Sometimes I wondered why I spoke to my sister at all.
But I needed information about Bobby Joe. As I opened my mouth to ask about his finances, I noticed a new truck enter the field, the base coat a shiny black with a fist made out of boulders appearing on the side. On the hood, the word “Crusher” was spelled out in letters shaped like rocks. I sat up straighter and leaned forward, watching as Crusher paused at his starting position. When the green light popped on, he raced around the track, a Rottweiler truck zipping around the other side, dust billowing up from the track. The announcer declared Crusher the winner, and I cheered along with the crowd.
Beside me, Ashlee played a game on her phone, casting occasional glances over her shoulder, no doubt to see if Rusty was watching her.
After a few more rounds, in which Crusher won twice more, the trucks drove off the field. When no new ones came on, I stood up and reached my arms over my head, feeling the muscles in my back loosen.
“Guess that’s it.” I nudged Ashlee with my knee. “Ready to go?”
“It’s not done.”
I leaned down, thinking I’d misheard her. “Wait, what?”
She gestured toward the track with her phone. “The show’s only half over. Freestyle’s up next.”
“What’s freestyle?”
“You know, they’ll jump over those cars, spin doughnuts, do whatever they want.”
Freestyle sounded pretty fun. I’d seen bits and pieces of it on TV before and always liked watching the jumps.
“Guess I’ll stretch my legs before they start,” I told Ashlee. “Want anything?”
“I’m good.”
I made my way up the stairs, wondering who would be in my seat when I returned this time. Night was descending, but the stadium lights scattered the shadows. An occasional breeze drifted through the stands, a brief respite from the heat.
Wandering along the concourse, I noted the people in line at the hot dog stand and averted my eyes when I saw a couple making out under the staircase leading to an upper level. If Jason had come with me, maybe we’d be the ones making out right now. Or not. Who knew if Jason and I would ever make out again?
I turned to head back and saw a petite girl with long dark brown hair walking in my direction. Where had I seen her before?
She got closer, and I realized it was Maria. Why had I been running all over town trying to talk to people when I could have just questioned everyone at the truck rally?
As I raised my hand in greeting, a loud group of men barreled in between us, laughing and jostling each other. When the group had passed, Maria was gone. But where?
I scanned to the left, then the right, wondering how she’d disappeared so fast. People loitered near the snack bar, and I craned my neck to see around them. I finally spotted her up ahead, scurrying like she was being chased. Had she spotted me after all? But why run?
Darting after her, I threaded my way through the bystanders as she headed farther away from the crowds. She glanced once over her shoulder and sped up to a trot, then passed through a doorway cut in a cement wall. The circle on the wall designated it as a women’s bathroom.
She could try to hide in a stall, but I’d wait her out. I focused on the bathroom, the sounds of the crowd dying away as I headed toward the far corner and the doorway I’d seen her go through. I neared the entryway and heard a footstep behind me. Before I could turn around, someone shoved me forward, and the cement wall was directly before me.
I didn’t even have a chance to throw up my hands. My head thumped against the wall. Everything went black as I fell to the floor in a heap.
15
My head throbbed, but I knew I should get up. I pushed my palms against the rough floor and propell
ed myself to a standing position. I had a second to notice all the graffiti on the cement wall before someone whirled me around and held my arms.
As I struggled against the firm grip, I looked into a man’s face, level with my own. The clear lenses of his glasses reflected the overhead lights, and his brown hair was cropped close to his head. I felt a flicker of recognition, but my brain was working at only half speed. I couldn’t remember where I’d seen him.
Blindly, I threw my weight forward, hoping to knock him off balance, but he shoved back, pinning me like a grocery list on a corkboard.
“Stop fighting me. I just want to talk.” His voice was gruff.
“Let go!” This time when I lurched forward, he released my arms and stepped to the side. I almost fell down, but managed to regain my balance.
I swayed slightly as I faced the man who had pushed me, wondering what my options were. He was my height and had a slight build, but I doubted I could outfight him. Could I outrun him?
The man held up his hands. “I’m not trying to hurt you.”
Well, he could have fooled me. I was almost positive he did indeed want to hurt me. “Is that why you shoved me into a wall?”
“You were chasing after my wife. I had to stop you.”
His wife? The wooziness in my head abated a bit as I realized where I’d seen him before. He’d been arguing with Maria the day I’d stopped at the Breaking Bread Diner. So that was her husband. What was his name? Todd? What exactly did he have planned for me?
I took a step back, noticing how little I could hear the people back at the rally. The area we were standing in was remote. In my haste to catch Maria, I hadn’t realized how far away I’d walked from the crowd. And where was Maria anyway? Still in the bathroom?
Todd eyed me but made no move.
“I needed to talk to her about something,” I said slowly, as though I was trying to soothe a wounded animal.
Based on his stiff back and unblinking stare, he wasn’t soothed.
“Like what?” he demanded.
“Girl stuff. You know how girls like to gab,” I said, not willing to admit I wanted to ask her where she was Thursday night when Bobby Joe was murdered. I looked over his shoulder to see if anyone was headed our way. Nope.
All Natural Murder Page 12
