Geared for the Grave (A Cycle Path Mystery)

by Duffy Brown

“Running off to Tahiti?” Sutter said, clambering down the steps as I came back into the main room. “The dock master called and said somebody was picking a lock on one of his boats and the last time she was here, she was covered in white paint and . . . Whoa, this time you’re green.”

  I took Sutter’s hand and led him to the drawer with the wig and the cigars. “There’s a crutch and white wrinkled suit jacket in the bedroom. What is going on? Or maybe nothing’s going on and it’s me overreacting? We both know I do that sometimes, well, maybe a lot of the time, and you already found a wig and crutch at Huffy’s, except we know Huffy didn’t kill Bunny. But why would Ed frame Rudy for murder?”

  The step creaked, and Ed and Helen were framed in the doorway, a gun in Ed’s hand. “Don’t do it,” he said to Nate as he reached for his own gun. “You might be faster than me, but I bet I can put a bullet in Chicago here before you get one off. Put your gun on the floor real easy and kick it over to me, and don’t dirty the carpet, we just had it cleaned. The dock master called and said someone was breaking into our boat and that you were here too. We figured you were up to no good.”

  “That dock master knows we’re all out here,” Sutter said in a low, even voice, like someone who’d had a gun pointed at him before.

  Helen smirked. “Four of us go out for a little sail and two come back. Everyone knows how you and this girl here are always at each other. A little shoving match and you just happened to fall overboard and we couldn’t save you.”

  “Hold on,” I said in a high, shrill voice, like someone who’d never had a gun pointed at her. “This is crazy. Why frame Rudy for Bunny’s death?” I turned to Ed. “He’s your best friend.” My eyes shot wide open, my stomach doing a double flip. “And you’re going to make this boat move?” I felt light-headed and gagged and stumbled against the wall, knocking off a row of family pictures of Helen’s Heaven, the good times.

  Nate grabbed my arm. “Take a deep breath.”

  I stared at the floor, trying not to lose my lunch. My head cleared, and I picked up one of the pictures. “I . . . I know this guy from Chicago. He runs an ad agency—one of Abigail’s competitors. In fact, he and Abigail are both pitching to a client next week. That’s why she sent me here and she didn’t come and . . . and . . .”

  “And this has nothing to do with Bunny or Rudy,” Nate said. “This is about money and business, isn’t it, Ed?”

  Ed scowled. “This is about family. Ed Junior needs this next contract—we need it—and the only way for that to happen is to get Abigail out of Chicago. All of our money is tied up in the agency and Junior is running it into the ground. No one pitches a project like Abigail. She worked for me—I taught her all she knows.”

  “And she’s kicking Junior’s butt,” I said, starting to put it all together. “You’re the one who cut Rudy’s step when you were acting like you were doing repairs. You wanted him to break his leg, thinking that would get Abigail here.”

  “And instead, you showed up with paint cans,” Ed hissed.

  “So you upped the stakes and killed Bunny and pinned it on Rudy,” Sutter said. “For sure that would get his daughter to come.”

  “That nosy Bunny saw Ed cutting the step and started to blackmail him,” Helen added. “We had to put an end to that, and framing Rudy for the murder knowing Mira and her telescope would see the whole thing was a perfect fit. Even if Rudy is Ed’s friend, it couldn’t be helped. Bunny would be gone and Abigail would come to the island, and by all rights it should have worked,” Helen fumed. “Whoever heard of putting a body on ice for a week? It’s indecent. And then Chicago here bonded with Rudy and started hunting for the murderer. You’re not very good, you know.”

  “Couldn’t be too bad,” I said. “You pushed me in the lake to get rid of me.” I drew in a sharp breath. “That was supposed to be Mother.”

  “We figured her sharing space with Bunny might dampen your enthusiasm a bit.”

  I jumped up, ready to commit murder of my own, and Sutter pulled me down. “Easy, girl.” He gave me a hard look. “I sure could use some of your fried green beans about now.”

  “We’re dying, and you’re thinking food? Men! And did you have to mention fried?” I burped.

  “Fried green beans that I steal from you all the time by . . .” Sutter jabbed me in the ribs.

  By distracting me and getting my attention on something else, I finished to myself.

  “Shut up, you two.” Helen turned to Ed. “We’ll tie them up and get going before that dock master comes over here to see what’s going on.”

  “I’m going to be sick.” I stood up, leaning over the white couch. “Those blueberries for breakfast didn’t sit too well.” I gagged.

  “Blueberries?” Helen shrieked. “For God’s sake, move.”

  I hunched my shoulders, gagged and didn’t budge. Helen rushed for me, Sutter dove for Ed, pinning him against the wall, and I tackled Helen to the floor. I picked up a framed picture of Ed Junior, the happy years, and whacked her over the head. “That’s for Mother,” I yelled at Helen. Then I whacked her again.

  Sutter snagged me by the back of my shirt, bringing me beside him, gun in hand. “Well done, Evie Bloomfield.”

  “I wasn’t kidding about the blueberries.” I headed for the steps, then turned back. “Say it. After all this time, I gotta hear it.”

  I got a half smile from Sutter. “Rudy didn’t kill Bunny.”

  And that made me smile. “So, are you staying around here or leaving?”

  “Does it matter to you?”

  “Yeah, I think it does, actually. By any chance, do you like cheesecake?”