And slower.
And stopped. Really and truly stopped.
Smack dab in the middle of the intersection of Ninth and Pine.
Nice.
Trembling with relief, I unhooked my seat belt and reached for my cell phone.
A horn blared. A really, really big horn followed by the shrieking of brakes. My head jerked up. Fear trilled through me. A semitruck bore down, trailer slewing as the driver desperately tried to stop. It was going way, way over the tidy twenty-five-mile-an-hour speed limit, and it was about to go over me, too.
In one motion I opened the door and dove out of my little pickup. The grit of the pavement barely registered against my palms as I rolled to my feet and ran. The terrifying crunch of tearing metal sounded behind me. Over my shoulder, I saw the driver of the big rig had managed to slow down, but it still pushed my little Toyota pickup over, crumpling it in slow motion like so much cardboard.
The five-gallon bucket of baking soda in the bed of my truck erupted into the air. The sun shone through the dusty cloud, giving the whole mess a romantic, surreal effect.
The driver leapt from the semi and ran to me. "Oh, God, lady. Are you okay?" He peered at the wreck. "Was there anyone else in there?"
I shook my head, curiously unable to speak. I looked down at my hands, fluttering at the ends of my arms like leaves in the wind. Oh, wait a minute. No wonder: my whole body was shaking like that.
People began spilling out of houses up and down the street. The eerie ululation of sirens grew louder. I crossed my arms over my chest and eyed my poor little truck, still not quite believing what had just happened.
A patrol car screeched to a stop. An ambulance was next, accompanied by a fire truck. But no one was going to be able to put Humpty Dumpty back together again.
I started to giggle.
The truck driver looked at me with alarm.
"Sorry," I gasped. "It's just so-" The laughter erupted again, cutting off my words. A paramedic hurried over.
"She doesn't seem hurt," the truck driver said, deep concern in his voice. "But she started laughing like that a few moments ago."
"Just a little hysteria," the paramedic said, reaching for his bag.
"Nuh uh," I managed to snort out.
"You'll be okay in a little bit," he said.
"Sophie Mae? Is that you?"
Tears streaming down my face, I turned to see Detective Robin Lane, hands on her perfectly proportioned hips, surveying the scene.
"Oh, yeah," I choked. "It's me." I sniffed and rubbed the back of my hand across my cheek.
She peered at me, then asked the paramedic. "What's wrong with her? Is she on drugs?"
A giggle sneaked out, and I clamped my hand over my mouth.
"Nah, I don't think so," the paramedic said. "It's just a nervous reaction to almost getting killed."
The urge to laugh disappeared completely.
I had almost been killed. Oh. Wow.
"What happened?" Lane asked.
For the first time since my old pickup had gone to Toyota heaven, I was able to speak like a normal human being. "My brakes wouldn't work."
Her forehead furrowed. "Just went out? All of a sudden?"
"Completely." I went on to describe what I'd done, and how I had finally brought the little truck to rest. "Then this guy plowed into me." I gestured toward the trucker.
"Hey lady, it wasn't my fault your vehicle was in the intersection like that."
"You were going too fast," I said, my voice wavering a little. "And you darn well know it."
He stubbed his toe into the ground and looked up at Robin through the fringe of hair that had flopped down on his forehead. I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
The paramedic poked and prodded at me a little, then pronounced me physically fit. He was recommending that I go to a hospital to make sure when Barr strode up and put his arm around my shoulders.
"Robin called me. What happened?"
I sighed and told the story all over again.
"I'm taking you home," he said. "Stay here, and I'll be right back." He went to where Robin was questioning the truck driver further and spoke to her. She started to shake her head, but he shook his own once, firmly, and returned to where I stood waiting. In seconds he'd bundled me into his car and we were driving away.
"Thanks for rescuing me," I said. "Just drop me at the house, and you can get back to work."
"You dope," he said, the tenderness in his tone belying the words. "I'm taking the rest of the day off."
Wow. Barr Ambrose didn't "take the rest of the day off" lightly. If it took the demise of my vehicle and me almost dying for it to happen, then so be it. I'd sit back and enjoy.
But when I looked over, I saw the muscles working along his jaw. He was really upset.
TWENTY-FIVE
MEGHAN WAS APPALLED WHEN she heard what had happened, and commenced fussing and feeding. The three of us settled into the living room with tea and spice cake. Brodie waddled between us, urging us with his brown eyes, fox-like ears, and occasional corgi talk to share our baked goods while we discussed mechanical issues.
"The emergency brake wouldn't work either?" Meghan asked.
I shook my head. "Nope. And I tried to downshift, but it seemed like it was stuck in gear." I turned to Barr. "Was Scott Popper's patrol car ever checked out, you know, to make sure nothing mechanical was wrong with it?"
"It's still in the wrecking yard. I wanted to get a little more information before calling his accident a homicide," he said.
"There are an awful lot of cars killing or nearly killing their occupants in this case. There's Scott's wreck. There's what happened to me today. And there's the wreck that killed Ariel and Rocky's parents about ten years ago."
Meghan's brow furrowed. Barr looked thoughtful, then chagrined.
"What?" I asked when I saw his expression.
"I was thinking what happened to your truck today had nothing to do with the murder."
Which murder, I almost asked. I was starting to think we were dealing with more than one. So what was Barr talking… hey, wait a minute.
I stood up quickly, and Brodie gave a sharp bark of surprise. "Hang on. Are you saying you think your ex sabotaged my truck?"
Meghan's gaze whipped from me to Barr. "Oh, you can't. She wouldn't. That's crazy."
I began to pace. "Well, your mom said Hannah was a little crazy, as I recall."
Barr held his palms up. "I've never known her to be violent."
Stopping in front of him, I crossed my arms. "But you assumed it was her right away, didn't you?"
He inclined his head a fraction. "I could be wrong. I hope I'm wrong. But I don't like how she disappeared from where she was staying and still keeps trying to talk to you." His eyes flicked to Meghan. "Two million is a lot of money."
I grumbled a word that rhymed with "itch" under my breath. Then cocked my head. "Does she know anything about cars? I mean, would she even know how to do it?"
"I don't know," Barr said. "She could have learned a lot in ten years.
"Oh, no." I rubbed my palms over my face. "You know who else knows about cars? Besides your venomous ex?"
They both shook their heads.
"Gabi Kaminski."
Meghan's head drew back in surprise. "Really?"
"In Rocky's barn-turned-garage, he asked her to give him a clutch-compressor springie thingie or whatever it was. She knew exactly what he was talking about."
Barr's forehead wrinkled while he untangled what I'd just said. "You mean a clutch-spring compressor? Was he working on a transmission?"
"I think so." I waved my hand. "Whatever. But the point is that she knew what it was. I bet Gabi's just as good of a mechanic as Ariel was. She's pretty angry at me. Over the course of the several hours I spent with her and her family, a lot of information about Ariel came out. Then I saw Thea Hawke's roving, told you about it, and had the temerity to come back into her house and point it out to you." I took another piece
of spice cake, ravenous after my brush with death. My teeth sank into the moist, cinnamon-scented crumb.
"Well, we can't do anything until we know for sure that your brakes were deliberately sabotaged," Barr said. His expression was skeptical.
"Of course," I said.
"What if it was just an accident?" Meghan asked.
Fat chance.
"I don't know," Barr said. "But we're going to have someone look at it and find out."
"Scott's, too?"
He nodded. "We'd better."
"Well, don't take it to Dusty's Fix-It," I said.
"Why not?" Meghan asked. "Dusty does great work on the Volvo."
"And they have the contract with the city of Cadyville, too. Maintenance on all the police cars," Barr said slowly.
"Oh, wow. Didn't you know?" I drained my tea. "Zak Nelson works there."
We all exchanged looks, and Barr nodded.
"I'm sending both vehicles to the crime lab," Barr said, standing. "I know I said I was taking the day off, but would you be angry if I went and followed up on this?"
I forced a smile. "Not a bit. I want to know if those brakes were an accident, or if someone actually tried to, you know…" I glanced at Meghan. "Kill me."
"Because of your investigation," she said, bitterness underlying every word. "I swear, I worry more about you than I do about my own daughter." She stood and turned her ire on Barr. "She promised this wouldn't happen again, and then you had to go and ask her to get involved. Well, I hope you're happy." Shouldering past him, she went into her office.
"Meghan, wait," I called.
The door closed loudly behind her.
I started to go after her, but Barr put his hand on my arm. "Let it be."
"But-"
"She's right. I should have asked you to leave CRAG, not get involved even further with that bunch of snakes."
"Hey, I like it there," I said. "I wouldn't have stopped going just because you asked me."
He gripped my shoulders. "Meghan's still right."
I frowned. "I tried to be so careful."
"Well" He leaned in. "The cat's out of the bag now. You watch your back."
I nodded my agreement. Better late than never.
***
Barr left, Meghan's one o'clock client showed up, and I took the cordless phone downstairs. Despite my suspicion that Gabi Kaminski had had something to do with my brakes failing, I wanted to follow up on Barr's initial thoughts about the cause of the incident.
I dialed. Waited. "Hello? Is this Mrs. Ambrose? Cassie? This is Sophie Mae. Reynolds. We spoke the other day."
"Hello, Sophie Mae," Cassie said on the other end of the line. "How are you?"
"Well, I'm fine, though I must admit I've been better. That's why I called. I have a question for you."
A pause and then, "All right. Shoot"
I grimaced and plunged on. "Does Hannah know anything about car mechanics?"
"Car mechanics? What on earth? What did she do, offer to change your oil?"
My laugh sounded thin. "Hardly. I'm talking about something a little more sophisticated. Would she know how to cut a brake line?"
There was silence on the other end of the phone, and when Barr's mother finally spoke the bantering note was gone. "I don't think so. Hannah's a tough little thing, and she can ride most anything with four legs, but she knows horses, not cars."
"You're sure."
"Well, we spend a lot of time together, but I couldn't say for sure, no. She has a life away from here. I don't know what all it involves. Not my business."
I couldn't keep the disappointment out of my voice. "All right, thanks."
"What happened?"
Silence on my end this time.
"Sophie Mae, did something happen to your car?"
I sighed. "Yes, ma'am. The brakes went out on my little pickup."
"Are you okay?"
"I am. My truck wasn't so lucky. It was completely totaled."
An intake of breath on the other end of the line. "I'm sorry to hear that. I really am. But why would you think Hannah had something to do with it?"
"Uh, well, Barr kind of said-oh never mind. I shouldn't have called. It's just that neither of us is exactly neutral on the subject of Hannah, and I thought you might be able to, well, you know. Provide some perspective on the situation." The more I talked, the dumber I sounded. But did that stop me from saying more? No.
"See, Barr talked to her, and she said she'd leave town, go home. She left the place she was staying, and he can't find her now, but she's stopped by my house to talk to me twice since then."
"What did she say?"
"I wasn't home either time." I rubbed my eyes. "I just don't know what to think. And then when this happened this morning, we had to wonder."
"Now listen," Cassie said. "Hannah can be a little flighty, but she never struck me as the sort who would really hurt anyone. She'll come back here soon enough. Maybe she just wants to meet the woman who captured Barr's heart so thoroughly. Don't begrudge her that."
"Yes, ma'am," I said. "I'll try not to jump to any conclusions."
"Don't call me ma'am, for heaven's sake. I'll try to get a hold of that girl from this end, see if I can't talk some sense into her."
"Oh, gosh. I don't want to cause any trouble between you and an employee." And the last thing I needed was to make Hannah even angrier.
"Now don't you worry about that. And Sophie Mae?"
"Yes?"
"I'm awful glad you're okay. I haven't met you face-to-face yet, but I'm getting real fond of you already. You take care of yourself, hear?"
"I will. Thank you."
I felt better after talking to Cassie Ambrose. She had a calming, grounding effect. I could only imagine what it would be like in person. But the truth was she didn't know much more than Barr or I did about Hannah's mechanical ability.
***
My teenaged helper, Cyan, was eager to work after missing a day. Business had been gradually picking up during the previous six months, so when she arrived I dumped a ton of recent online orders on her, armed her with an inventory list, boxes, tape, packing peanuts, and my computer, and told her she could stay as long as she needed to get it all done. She set to her tasks with cheerful alacrity, the Dixie Chicks thumping away on the portable stereo I'd recently added to my workroom.
Since I didn't have a vehicle at the moment, I had to walk to CRAG. I'd promised to watch the retail shop for the four-to-eight evening shift now that we were open again. I wasn't going to let the co-op down just because a semi destroyed my only means of transportation. Not that I wouldn't have changed my mind in a second if Barr had actually taken the day off.
Oh, my poor little Toyota. It had been such a steady and reliable companion for so long. I missed it already. What could I possibly get for the insurance money? It was an old pickup by their standards, and they probably wouldn't give me much for it. Getting a new vehicle, even a used one, would be expensive.
Vehicle failure seemed to be quite the theme surrounding Ariel's murder, but in truth it had nothing to do with how she was killed. Ariel had been hit on the head and then strangled. And she sure as heck hadn't been the one to cut my brake line.
But had she cut Scott Popper's? Barr would find out, whether he was the lead detective on the case or not.
Irene was seated behind the register at CRAG, looking bored. She glanced up when I walked in, then went back to the occasional desultory swipe of her pencil across the drawing pad open in front of her.
"Hi." I slung my tote bag under the counter with a dull thump. "Has it been busy?"
She sniffed. "No. You were wrong. No one's come in."
"Well, perhaps no one knows we're open again. It happened kind of fast."
"Maybe"
What an Eeyore. "Are you going to stay awhile, or do you need to get going?"
"I'm waiting for Zak to come get me," she said, filling in the shading on a meaty arm. I glimpsed enough of the rest of the dr
awing to see she was designing yet another of her female power figurines. "He's late. Again. But then, so are you."
I looked at the clock on the wall. "I was here on time."
She sniffed again.
Oh, brother. What did she have against me, for Pete's sake? I'd never so much as said boo to her before joining CRAG, and my interactions with her since had been infrequent and low key.
"As long as you're here, I'm going to go upstairs and check out some of the fiber for sale."
She shrugged without looking up. Her pencil scratched across the rough Bristol board.
I went up to the shelves and baskets filled with fiber ready to spin. Gabi's stash hadn't been much smaller than this. The raw, uncarded alpaca wool caught my eye, and I thought of Lindsey Drucker, raising animals, spinning, weaving, and living with another artist. It couldn't possibly be as ideal of a lifestyle as it sounded. I mean, could anything live up to being that perfect?
Lindsey was a woman with demons, after all. Demons Ariel had shared, and that she'd tried to save her from.
"Sophie Mae," Irene called from the bottom of the stairs. "Sophie Mae! Zak's here, and I'm leaving. Now."
Sheesh. Give a woman a little time to shop, won't you? "Okay, I'm coming."
I hit the ground floor, and Irene was out the door. Her son turned to follow.
"Zak," I said.
He looked at me over his shoulder. "Yeah?"
"I told Rocky Kaminski about the painting you wanted, but-"
"I know." His gaze jerked to his mother, already halfway across the parking lot, then back to me. "His wife called me. Can I leave the painting here for a day or two after I get it?"
"Rocky's going to sell it to you after all?"
He nodded.
"Okay." I noted the black grease under his fingernails. Was he as handy at unfixing cars as he was at fixing them? And how would that translate to strangulation? "You must have really loved Ariel," I suddenly blurted out. The words hung awkwardly in the air between us.
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