My heart squeezed with sympathy even as it pounded with fear. “So now what?”
Ethel took a deep breath and sniffed back tears. “Now you can tell the sheriff what I did and why. You should also tell Jimmy not to leave his keys in the car and that it’s not his fault you were hurt.”
“You ran me down?” Why that should surprise me after what I’d just heard, I wasn’t sure, but it did.
“I didn’t intend to do more than scare you. You were supposed to recognize the car and think Jimmy was behind it all. The sheriff would eventually let Jimmy off the hook, and by that time the rest of us would be in Florida. Only I’m not supposed to drive at night, and I misjudged the distance. The one thing I actually did right was picking your lock. My Paul would have been proud of me for being able to do it so quickly.” Her hand trembled. “He would be so disappointed in everything else. I should have thought things through before acting. That’s what I’ve been doing the last couple of days—thinking. Which is why I know I’m doing the right thing. The truth won’t bring Ginny back, but it might give her family peace of mind.”
“What about you?” I swallowed hard. “Will confession help you find peace?”
“No.” Ethel shook her head. “But this will.”
Before I could register her movements, Ethel lifted the syringe from my neck, pushed it against hers, and depressed the plunger.
“Oh my God.” I fumbled to release my seat belt and scrambled between the seats into the back of the car. Ethel gave me a sad smile as I felt around the seat for my phone. It had to be here somewhere. Insulin took a while to hit the bloodstream. If I called for help now, there might be a chance to save Ethel. She might not want to live, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to let her die. I needed my phone.
Got it. More important, I had a signal.
I dialed Doc’s number, begged him to get here fast, and then called Sean. Doc lived just over a mile down the road. Sean was parked up the block. As I waited for them to arrive, I tried to coax Ethel into drinking some of the soda I’d left in my car last week. It was flat and probably tasted terrible, but it had sugar in it. Ethel needed sugar to counteract the insulin. No matter how I begged or the tears I shed, Ethel refused. Taking my hand, she gave me a small smile and told me everything was going to be okay now. I heard the echo of sirens and hoped she was right.
*
My hair was molded to my scalp. My purple taffeta dress was hideous but fit perfectly. Standing across the room, Annette adjusted the veil on Danielle’s head while Erica the Red sniffled. The smile on Danielle’s face was brighter than the rhinestones that glittered at her neck and ears. She looked perfect. Everything looked perfect. It almost made it possible to forget everything that had happened less than twenty-four hours ago.
Annette had waved her makeup magic wand and made the red syringe mark on my neck vanish, but she couldn’t take away the ache from the wound or the concern that Ethel wouldn’t pull through. Doc said there was a chance she’d come out of the diabetic coma, but all the medicine in the world couldn’t give a person the will to live. Maybe knowing the rest of the Winter Migration Club had gotten out of town before Sean and Sheriff Jackson arrived to arrest them would ease some of the guilt she was trying to escape. I planned on filling her in when I visited tomorrow. Today was about Danielle and Rich.
It was standing room only in the sanctuary as I gave Danielle’s hand a squeeze, took my bouquet of daisies, and walked slowly down the aisle behind Erica the Red. Rich was beaming. When I turned to watch Danielle walk toward him, I smiled, too.
I blinked back tears as Danielle and Rich exchanged vows, and I saw lots of people reach for tissues when Rich slipped the ring on Danielle’s finger. Only Mother Lucas looked unmoved by the ceremony. Her lips formed a thin, almost disinterested smile throughout the service. Until, of course, she looked at me. Then she frowned. Oy! I had no idea what her problem was, but it was starting to irk me.
When the ceremony ended, the guests went to the reception hall. The rest of us stood for a seemingly endless number of photos. As Stan posed Danielle and Rich, I noticed Mrs. Lucas glaring in my direction and decided to find out why.
“I don’t like you,” she said, adjusting the daisy corsage on her beige dress. “You’ve pushed your taste, or lack of, onto my son’s wedding and encouraged Danielle to defy her new family at every turn. I don’t appreciate that kind of behavior.”
Personally, I didn’t appreciate her trying to make Danielle feel bad for having friends and opinions, but I decided to keep that to myself. Danielle was going to get enough grief being related to this lady. Instead, I said, “Danielle’s my friend. I had her best interests at heart.”
Stan asked for Mrs. Lucas to come up front for a photo op. She smiled at him and then turned back to me. “Danielle isn’t what I wanted for my son. He deserves the best, but he fell in love with her. I can tell she’s trying to be a good pastor’s wife, so I will do my best to accept that she is one of us.” She stood, adjusted her skirt, and smiled. “I don’t, however, have to accept you.”
The woman’s attitude was irritating but strangely refreshing. It was nice to have someone dislike me without threatening to kill me.
When Stan finished clicking the final photo, we trucked down to the hall for the cocktail hour. With lights dimmed and candles glowing, the room looked lovely. Lionel greeted me at the door with a glass of wine.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, brushing his fingers against the wound on my neck. His gentle touch made my heart flip.
“I’m fine.” Or I would be after I finished this glass of wine. “This is a happy day. Did your parents go back home? I feel bad I didn’t get the chance to say good-bye.”
“They left this morning, but they plan on coming back for Christmas. You’ll have your chance to see them again.” Lionel shifted his weight. “Before they left, my mother said she was worried she might have upset you. She said…” His handsome face flushed as he reached for the right words. “She thought I’d told you…”
“That you started planning one of these bashes for yourself.”
Lionel winced. “I was going to tell you, but it never seemed like the right time. There was always something getting in the way.”
Car explosions. Death threats. Dead bodies. Yeah, over the months, lots of things had gotten in the way.
“Are you mad?” he asked.
“Not really.” My initial anger had faded. Almost watching someone die had put things in perspective. “Although I guess when things get back to normal you should tell me about it.”
Lionel smiled and wove his fingers through mine. “It’s a date.”
Food was served. People oohed and aahed over the silver bell ornaments Danielle had set next to every plate. On each was a small tag tied with a ribbon that read RICH AND DANIELLE’S WEDDING, along with the date. The cake was cut—though I was sad to see the horrible cake topper survived to ruin another bride’s day—and the DJ cranked out tunes while the entire town danced. Erica the Red beat out Jasmine in the bouquet toss and got to dance with Lionel, who winked at me when he caught the garter. While they danced, I spotted a uniform-clad Sean watching me from the doorway and headed over.
“Ethel?” I asked as we stepped into the hall.
“She’s holding her own. Her coconspirators are missing, but we were able to freeze the bank account and found the records they kept on the items they stole and who they sold them to. There’s a chance we might be able to locate some of the items and return them to their rightful owners.”
I thought about Julie Johnson and smiled. “Did you find Jimmy Bakersfield?”
“The cops in Dixon spotted his car parked outside a motel and called it in.” Sean leaned against the wall. “Jimmy’s relieved to know he wasn’t responsible for your injuries.”
“Why did he run when I tried to question him?”
“Jimmy’s having memory issues. When he saw the dent in the hood of his car and realized the car wasn’t w
here he remembered parking it, he panicked. I’m guessing he’ll be seeing Doc first thing on Monday morning to make sure this kind of thing never happens.”
Poor Jimmy.
“What about Seth and Jan?” I asked.
Sean shrugged. “Hearing Ethel and the rest of the winter migration club were behing the thefts must have spooked them. By the time I got to their house, the basement was empty.”
“So now what?” I asked.
“Now I keep searching for Ethel’s coconspirators and try to run down as many of the stolen items as I can.” Sean smiled. “Want to help?”
Help? “With what?”
Sean pushed away from the wall and sauntered toward me. “Making calls. Tracking down jewelry and family heirlooms. Reuniting victims with their possessions.”
“You want me to work for the sheriff’s department?”
“No.” His eyes met mine. “I want something different. The sheriff thinks you’ll be an asset, though. He’d like you to work part-time to help close out this case. After that, you’ll be back to ordering concessions and renting skates while those of us who are trained to catch bad guys do our jobs.”
Wow. “I don’t know what to say.” About the job. About Sean and what he wanted. About any of it.
“Think of it this way,” Sean said. “After all the work you’ve put in, wouldn’t it be nice to get paid?”
I pictured Mrs. Johnson’s check. It was still stuck on my fridge with a magnet, where I’d put it the day she wrote it. The check had made me feel guilty because I didn’t believe I’d be able to help. But I did. And maybe, just maybe, I’d be able to do a whole lot more.
“Yes,” I said, giving Sean a smile. “Yes, it would.”
ALSO BY JOELLE CHARBONNEAU
Skating on the Edge
Skating Over the Line
Skating Around the Law
About the Author
JOELLE CHARBONNEAU has worked as a professional singer and actress and currently is a private voice instructor. She is an Anthony Award finalist. She lives with her husband and son in Illinois.
Visit her Web site at www.joellecharbonneau.com.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
A THOMAS DUNNE BOOK FOR MINOTAUR BOOKS.
An imprint of St. Martin’s Publishing Group.
SKATING UNDER THE WIRE. Copyright © 2013 by Joelle Charbonneau. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.thomasdunnebooks.com
www.minotaurbooks.com
Cover design by David Baldeosingh Rotstein Cover art by Doron Ben-Ami
ISBN 978-1-250-01959-2 (hardcover) ISBN 978-1-25001960-8 (e-book) e-ISBN 9781250019608
First Edition: October 2013
Skating Under the Wire: A Mystery (Rebecca Robbins Mysteries) Page 25
