Grilled for Murder

by Maddie Day

  I spent the next half hour flipping burgers, toasting buns, and dishing out soup, fries, and coleslaw while Danna covered the tables. As I worked, the image of Erica leaving in the middle of the night kept popping into my thoughts. Who had she gone to see? Tiffany? Surely not Phil. Vince at his motel? Maybe, since they’d known each other in Chicago. He could have called and asked to see her, and then killed her out of anger.

  What if Erica had gone to see Max? She’d been trying to cozy up with him at the party, which he hadn’t been a bit happy about. He had quite a temper, and possibly PTSD issues, according to Adele, but he wouldn’t have killed his own sister-in-law. Would he? He’d have to have known how much it would upset Paula, and if I’d seen anything, I’d noticed how bonkers he was over the baby-to-be. I couldn’t believe he’d do anything to imperil his future son or daughter’s health. Octavia had wanted his and Vince’s fingerprints, though.

  I stopped, resting the edge of the flipper on the griddle. Or maybe it was their DNA she’d wanted. I shook my head. They’d have to separate out my DNA, and maybe Danna’s, too. I had no idea how they did it and wasn’t really interested in finding out.

  Abe sauntered by on his way out as I was assembling a veggie burger. “Any time you need soup made, just give me a shout.” He leaned an elbow on the counter.

  “I might take you up on the offer.” I smiled sideways at him, my cheeks warming.

  “And I’m going to take you up on that home-cooked dinner, too. Who could turn down dinner from a chef?”

  Whoa. This was moving along apace. But why not? “How about Sunday? I’m more relaxed, because we don’t open on Mondays.”

  “It’s a date. Now I’m back to work.” He slid me a hip bump and headed for the door, giving a mock salute to Buck, who held the door for him.

  Adele stopped by a few minutes later, after greeting a table of women she passed and stopping to chat with Buck where he sat alone waiting for his lunch.

  “Abe’s a fine fellow,” Adele said in a soft voice.

  “I like him. I’m looking forward to spending more time with him.”

  “I’m glad for you, honey. Talk to you soon. Come on out for lunch on Monday, why don’t you? You can help me decorate my tree.”

  “Deal.” I glanced over at my own tree, which also sat undecorated. Maybe I could decorate tonight.

  After Adele left, Danna and I switched jobs, and I carried a lunch platter over to Buck. Two hamburgers, coleslaw, fries, soup, and coffee. And the guy stayed as skinny as a sapling.

  “Thanks, Robbie. How you been?” he asked.

  “Busy as heck. But, hey, I’m living my dream.” I smiled down at him. The smile slid off when I remembered I still hadn’t emailed Octavia. I glanced around. We had a brief lull, it looked like. “Can you give Octavia a message for me?”

  He bobbed his chin down and back up with his mouth full.

  “I talked with Vince the other day, yesterday, I guess it was. You know, the guy down from Chicago? He seemed to have really disliked Erica. I thought Octavia should know.”

  Buck swallowed. “Will do.”

  “Vince is staying at a motel in the area, the Lamp something. Sue Berry knows where. I also thought maybe he called Erica that night. What if she went over to see him and he killed her there? The motel could have cameras or somebody who might have seen her car. Or there could be evidence in his room.”

  He nodded slowly. “We’ll check it out. Seems like a stretch, but sometimes it’s the unlikely that proves to be the reality.”

  “Thanks. So, some excitement last night at the restaurant,” I said. “Had you guys been tracking Tiffany’s, uh, business for a while?”

  “Yup. Took a couple few days to hook it up with Octavia looking into her for the murder and all. But now we have good evidence Tiffany was, in fact, home that night. She just wadn’t home alone.”

  “Maybe the gift shop wasn’t bringing in the kinds of funds she wanted.” I stuck my hands in my apron pockets.

  “Guess not. The poor girl. She’s paying a pretty penny to keep her dad in that fancy home up to Bloomington, bless her heart. Suppose she couldn’t think of any other way to pay for it than selling her own body.”

  “I guess. And I suppose I can’t ask about the murder investigation?”

  “Nope, you surely can’t.” Buck gave a wry smile. “But I know your puzzle brain is working at it. Don’t you go getting into trouble, now, hear? Octavia’s good at what she does. Let her—”

  “Don’t worry. I’m not interested in the least in coming face to face with a killer again. I’ll let her do her job.”

  Danna waved at me.

  “My cue. Good to see you, Buck.”

  He delivered a mock salute, then picked up his hamburger in both hands and took an impossibly large bite, leaving ketchup dripping down his hand.

  Chapter 29

  It was a glorious day for a bike ride, as it turned out. The weather had warmed to nearly sixty when I closed up the restaurant and took my cycle out, wearing bike shorts and my pink-and-yellow riding Windbreaker. The air felt downright balmy, even though in California sixty degrees would have called for a knit hat and a down jacket. The wind, sliding over my bare legs as I pistoned up a steep hill, cooled the sweat in exactly the right way. The air’s whistle in my ears was the best music ever. The most awesome part of cycling was not thinking, just riding in the zone where now is all there is.

  I’d been riding for forty minutes when I cruised to a halt at the crest of one of the highest hills around. I slid my water bottle from its holder and drank deeply. This was a gorgeous spot earlier in the fall, with the trees on the hills and in the hollows aglow in shades of gold, red, and green. Now the hills were bare except for evergreens, so the vista took on a blue-gray tint. It was still gorgeous. I felt like I could breathe more deeply out in the open like this, part of my Californian heritage.

  I stashed the water bottle in its wire holder on the frame again and started off down the road. The water was tasting kind of plasticky. Time to either scrub out the bottle or, better, find a metal one. As I rode, the usual magic of clearing my brain slipped away and thoughts came flooding back, or maybe it was because I’d cleared my brain and they had room to pop up. Thoughts about Erica and the cop, for example. Would the truth about what’d happened ever come out? Maybe the investigative reporter would dig deeper, but by rights it should be the police. They were the ones who could analyze the evidence, if any was still available. Surely the majority of the Chicago police force was honest. But why hadn’t Jon’s death been looked into more deeply before now?

  I spied a pothole and steered around it as I pumped up another hill. A sedan passed me, giving me a wide berth, and I waved my thanks. Not all drivers were as nice, even here in easygoing Indiana. Some seemed to want to brush as closely to a cyclist as possible. Maybe they were in Max’s camp, thinking people on bicycles wearing bright colors were crazy. Nothing crazy about it to my mind. We wore colorful shirts in the brightest possible hues to catch the eye of passing motorists, not as a fashion statement. Nobody wanted to be run off the road because they were wearing muted colors. And it was absolutely the best exercise around, using the big muscles in the legs to pump blood through the heart and brain.

  Cruising down the next hill, braking so I didn’t gain too much momentum, I considered that maybe Jim was the reason I was even thinking about Jon’s death. Jim’s guilt about not being able to keep his twin from ending his life would be assuaged by knowing he’d been murdered, instead. It wouldn’t bring Jon back, for sure, but it could help. So why did I even care how Jim felt? I did care, though. Was I jumping into a new relationship too soon? I frowned, and barely saw a great blue heron stretch out its pterodactyl neck on the pond to my right.

  I didn’t have much choice about not being with Jim. He was the one who decided to try on a different love. And, so far, all I was doing was spending some very enjoyable time with Abe. Isn’t that what twenty-somethings were supposed to
do? I’d gotten a little too serious after my mom died and I’d started my own business. It was okay to have fun once in a while.

  The downslope I was on soon became the last steep uphill on this route, and after that it would be a descent most of the way home. Time to quit thinking and ride. I put my head down and worked the incline. I crested the hill to a windy blast of cold air and started down the long descent. Woods on either side broke the natural wind, although I made my own by virtue of my speed. I sped down, the road vibrating through the curved-down handlebars into my gloved hands. The air rushed by my helmet and hummed in my ears.

  Time to slow my momentum before I had an accident. I squeezed the brake handles. Nothing happened. I did it again. No response. I pressed as hard as I could. The brake pads weren’t pressing on the wheels. I cursed at the top of my voice. What had happened to my brakes?

  I glanced up and swore again. A curve approached. My heart beat in my throat. I didn’t know if I could hold on at this speed. One bump, one pebble in the road, one patch of sand or gravel, and I’d be spattered all over the pavement. I struggled to stay Zen, to do nothing but ride.

  It was close, but I made it around the bend without flying off the road. The downhill continued. I’d never gone this fast. The bottom of the hill finally came into view, where the woods on the right opened up to a farm field planted with what looked like foot-high green grass. But the road I was on ended in a T, with a stop sign facing the end of my road but none for the crossing traffic. I was almost there. The turn either right or left was way too sharp to take at this velocity. Even though gravity no longer pulled me with such force, my momentum pushed me.

  An SUV approached on the crossroad from the left with plenty of its own velocity. We were on a direct collision course. I’d either hit the SUV or it would hit me. I didn’t think I could get my shoes out of their clips in time to drag them on the ground, which would either break my legs or send me head first over the handlebars, anyway. I had no choice. With a few yards to go before the stop sign, I wrenched the bike to the right. I bumped over the shallow berm and crashed sideways into the field. The SUV sped past on the crossroad. They’d either not seen me or thought I’d meant to go for a ride in a field.

  The sudden silence roared. My left foot had clicked free from the pedal clip, but my right hadn’t. My right knee was twisted and it burned. The bike lay on top of me. My recently repaired shoulder stung. The stuff that looked like grass wasn’t a bit soft, whatever it was, and my calves were scratched by the rocky soil it’d been planted in. At least this time I hadn’t been maliciously run off the road, unlike what’d happened in early October.

  I hoisted up on my right elbow and managed to push the bike up enough to twist my right foot out of the clip. Swinging my left leg over, I let the bike fall away and collapsed on my back, hands on my chest. My heart rate slowly returned to nearly normal. I sat up and palpated my knee. It hurt, but it appeared I hadn’t done more than twist it. My shoulder felt okay, too.

  I’d had the bike tuned up only last month, and the brakes had always worked as designed, before then and after. I couldn’t believe they went out on me accidentally. The alternative—that someone had tampered with them—was almost too scary to contemplate. I easily could have died.

  Chapter 30

  I swore at my phone. I’d called four people looking for a ride, but nobody picked up. Not Adele, not Phil, not Danna, not Abe. I didn’t leave a message for any of them. All I could see were the field and the surrounding woods, without a single house in sight where I could have tried to ask for a ride or to borrow a wrench. It was anybody’s guess where the farmer lived who’d planted the field. And this was the last time I went riding without carrying tools.

  No way was I riding my brakeless bike the few remaining miles to South Lick. I was left with Jim, the police, or walking. Walking on the ungiving cleats of bike shoes worked for a few yards here and there, but it wasn’t feasible for three or four miles. Neither was walking in my socks. Plus it would be dark in an hour, and I was already chilled. Biking togs were fine when the body was generating its own heat. Not so great when sweat cooled and it was windy, besides. I could call a taxi, if there were any serving South Lick. Except the only taxi companies in the area were in Bloomington fifteen miles away. They rarely ventured into Brown County except for a round-trip fare.

  I would feel foolish if I called the police for a ride. And I didn’t want to ask Jim for help, for so many reasons. I didn’t doubt he’d offer it, if he wasn’t in the sack with Octavia, that is. I kicked the gravel on the berm where I’d limped over with my bike.

  A pickup truck crested the hill I’d ridden down before I crashed. I stepped back from the edge of the road as an awful thought sprang into my brain. What if my brakes had actually been tampered with? What if whoever did it had been following me to finish the job if I hadn’t died in the accident? Vince. I’d been asking him about Erica only yesterday. If he’d killed her, he . . .

  I let that thought go as the truck drew closer. Vince could have borrowed a truck. I had no possible way of escaping, nowhere to hide. My left hand numbed on the handlebars where I held the cycle up. My legs, still shaky from the crash, felt like they were made of tissue paper. My throat harbored a big lump of fear.

  I dropped the bike and pressed Jim’s number. I missed, and stabbed at it again. Was the vehicle slowing down?

  Jim picked up almost instantly. “Robbie, hi.”

  I opened my mouth to cry for help. The truck sped past me. The driver didn’t even look at me. The pickup didn’t slow until it neared the corner, then it turned left and disappeared around a bend. I let out a noisy breath which ended up half sob. What I’d thought was a threat turned out to be nothing. My imagination was going to get me in trouble one of these days.

  “Robbie!” Jim’s alarm was obvious. “What’s going on?”

  I cleared my throat. “Are you alone?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “I hate to ask, but I need a favor from you.”

  “You know I’ll help you if I can. What’s the favor?”

  “I was out riding and my brakes went out on a downhill. Can you possibly give me a lift home? It’s way too dangerous to ride the bike.”

  “Oh, Robbie.”

  The care in his voice stabbed me.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “I’m a little banged up, but I’m okay.”

  “Of course I can give you a ride. I’ll be right there. Where are you?”

  I explained my location and thanked him before I disconnected. I obviously hadn’t meant what I’d said to Buck about Jim being a possible suspect in the murder or I wouldn’t have called him for a ride. I knew I hadn’t been serious. The urge toward revenge was a sly creature, creeping around the edges of reason, sneaking in under guise of logic.

  I examined the brake cables, but they were intact. The brakes themselves sat loose and useless, though. I paced on the berm, hugging myself to keep warm, cursing the fact I hadn’t strapped my small tool kit under the bike seat. I’d taken it off before the bike was serviced and never got around to putting it back.

  A crow scratched out a caw from a bare-branched oak across the road as the wind picked up, hiding the sun with a gray blanket of clouds balanced on the treetops. The wind carried the damp smell of a rainstorm, or even snow.

  Jim’s Prius appeared on the crossroad to my right and I waved, but he didn’t turn the corner. He kept driving. I pulled my phone out and jabbed his number, praying he wasn’t so responsible he wouldn’t pick up while at the wheel. He was almost out of sight to my left when he answered.

  “You just missed me. Turn around and take a right where the road comes in.”

  I watched the Prius turn, and a minute later he pulled up next to me.

  Climbing out, he said, “Sorry.” The edges of his mouth turned up, but he looked nervous.

  Good. He should be nervous about seeing me after what’d gone down between us. “I really appre
ciate this.”

  He opened the hatchback, then went around and opened the rear passenger door, too. “Let me put down the back seats. Your bike should fit easily.”

  When the back was flat, I slid in my cycle and closed the hatchback. I settled into the passenger seat. The air inside was blessedly warm.

  “Thanks for having the heat on,” I said. “It’s cold out there.”

  He sat with his hands on the steering wheel without starting the car, then gazed at me. “I don’t know what I would have done if you’d been seriously hurt. Or worse. I can’t tell you how glad I am you’re all right.”

  “Well, that makes two of us.” I waited for him to start the car before going on. “But the worst thing is, I think someone must have done something to the brakes. I had the bike tuned up last month, and I’ve ridden since then. The brakes are not faulty.”

  “Are the cables cut or something?”

  “No. I rode for almost an hour before they went out and they were fine. But I checked them while I waited for you. The mechanism is very loose, like they were partially unscrewed and then grew looser until they didn’t grip the wheel any longer.”

  “Who would have done messed with your brakes?”

  “No idea. And also, how? The cycle is locked in my apartment at all times.” I shook my head.