Death Takes a Ride (The Cate Kinkaid Files Book #3): A Novel

by Lorena McCourtney

“Yeah, we rode down from Springfield together.”

  Cate considered that statement with concern. They couldn’t just leave Rita stranded here. But three on a bike wouldn’t work. Rita wasn’t as hairy as Clancy and she had fewer legs, but she was, well, bigger-bottomed.

  “Do you have any way to get back to Springfield?” Maybe they could go home, get the SUV, and return for Rita.

  “Sure. Not a problem. I came on my own bike—’05 Harley,” she said, with obvious pride.

  The woman didn’t make any move to leave, and finally Cate asked, “Would you like to sit down?”

  “Sure. I’m Rita.”

  “Cate.” She pointed across the table. “He’s Mitch.”

  “Hi, Cate and Mitch.” Rita slid into the booth beside Cate and set the impressive purse on the seat between them. “You asked me about somebody, didn’t you?” she said to Mitch. “Before crazy Maxie bashed you.”

  “We’re trying to locate a guy named Zig,” Cate said, since Mitch was concentrating on working his jaw back and forth again.

  Rita shook her head. “I don’t know any Zig.”

  Cate offered the description Lily had given her.

  Rita shook her head again. “Sounds like at least ten guys I know. Where you guys from?”

  “Eugene,” Cate said.

  “If you ever need a good manicure or hand massage or pedicure, I’m at Heavenly Hair and Hands.” A glance at Cate’s fingernails suggested Cate had better sign up for a full treatment. As soon as possible.

  Rita’s own nails were quite spectacular. Long and purple, with a different flower painted on each one. Except one of those flowers looked ominously close to a sprig of something illegal.

  “I’ll remember that,” Cate said. “Heavenly Hair and Hands.”

  As far as Cate could tell, the conversation had now covered all possible connections between them. However, since Rita didn’t seem inclined to go anywhere, she decided it wouldn’t hurt to toss out a couple other names.

  “How about Mace Jackson? Do you know him? Big guy, ponytail, skulls tattooed on his knuckles.” Dead, although she didn’t add that.

  Skull-decorated knuckles didn’t faze Rita. “I know a guy with a skull on the back of his bald head, but no knuckle skulls.”

  “Andy Timmons? Have you heard of him?”

  Another negative shake of head. That seemed to cover any possible mutual acquaintances they might have. Cate thought of one more.

  “Kane Blakely?”

  “Nope. Who are all these guys anyway? I’m here most Saturday nights and I don’t know any of them.”

  “Oh, they’re just guys. I don’t know that they ever come here. Actually, the skulls-on-knuckles guy was more into bicycles than motorcycles, I think. Andy Timmons has an old Indian bike he’s trying to sell.”

  “Yeah? Hey, I maybe met him. This friend of mine was into old bikes. Bought ’em to fix up and sell over the internet. Got some crazy prices for them. I went with him a while back to see this old Indian bike he’d heard some guy had. Skinny little guy. With an oversized mustache. And ego.”

  “That could be him.”

  “Those old Indians are worth a bundle, but this guy wanted about double what the bike was worth, Tuffy said.”

  “Maybe that’s why he hasn’t sold the bike yet. Although I heard he’s about to make a deal. Does your friend Tuffy know Andy well?”

  “I remember him saying even if the guy came down on his price, he wouldn’t invest a nickel in it without making sure it wasn’t stolen.”

  “Andy seems to have something of a reputation problem that way. Although I’ve heard that someone checked on the bike, and it wasn’t stolen,” she added.

  “Yeah? Tuffy said later if he’d realized who the guy with the bike was, he wouldn’t even of gone to look at it. Something about his name. I think the guy was using a different name now than when Tuffy knew him earlier.”

  Rita fished a piece of ice out of Cate’s popular water glass and crunched on it. Cate considered this latest bit of information with interest. It plugged in with what Lily had said, that Mace had called Andy by a different name. Lily had thought it was a mistake made because Andy and Mace didn’t know each other very well. But maybe it was no mistake. Maybe Mace had called him Artie because that was really his name.

  “Do you know what name your friend knew Andy by?”

  “If Tuffy mentioned it, I don’t remember.”

  “Did he say anything more about Andy? Drugs, maybe?”

  “I don’t remember him saying anything about drugs.” A sideways glance suggested the question of drugs was unwarranted, maybe irrelevant. Which Cate took to mean, what’s a few illegal substances among friends? “I got the impression that Tuffy knew something about Andy from way back. Maybe that was why he was using a different name now.”

  Did Lily know all this? Cate didn’t think so. Was she really thinking about taking off for Nevada or Arizona with Andy?

  “Could you tell me where I could find your friend Tuffy and talk to him?”

  “I thought it was this Zig you were hot to find.”

  “I need to talk to various people for my … project.”

  “Well, you aren’t gonna find Tuffy.” Rita blinked, not exactly overcome with emotion, but apparently touched by something. “He’s dead.”

  “What happened?”

  “Got hit by a hit-and-run driver right outside his bike shop over in Yoncalla a few days ago.” She blinked again. “I remember him saying once that he didn’t want to wind up an old biker sittin’ around reminiscing about the good ol’ days. And he didn’t.”

  Tuffy got killed by a hit-and-run driver. Matt Halliday was run down by a vehicle, probably with intent to kill. Nothing said the incidents were connected, of course. But maybe hit-and-run was Andy Timmons’s murder method of choice? Maybe he’d decided Tuffy knew too much about his past and gotten rid of him. Halliday was his next target, according to that threatening note. And was Cate somewhere in that condemned lineup too?

  29

  Some noisy friends of Rita’s tromped in. She stood up and apologized again to Mitch for hitting him with her purse. Cate oofed when she lifted the purse off the seat and handed it to Rita. Maybe that was the time-saving system of bodybuilding: carry a purse heavy enough to act like a weight machine. With the side benefit of always having a secret weapon available. Rita moved off to another booth to sit with her friends.

  Cate and Mitch huddled there for another twenty minutes until he said he felt un-groggy enough to handle the bike. He paid for her coffee, left a good tip for the length of time they’d occupied the booth, and they wound their way through the bikes to the Purple Rocket. Two bikes smoked out of the parking lot ahead of them, but three more arrived.

  Maybe the biggest and best brawls were reserved for after midnight.

  By then, the weather had done the Oregon thing, and the awesome night had morphed into scudding clouds. Mitch drove carefully on the freeway, a little slower than usual. A light sprinkle had started by the time they chugged up the driveway to Cate’s house.

  Cate stepped off the bike, opened the trunk behind her seat, and dropped her helmet inside. Mitch just sat there, balancing the bike with one foot on the ground. “You okay?” she asked.

  “When I’m writing my memoirs, I may not include the Biker Bar Incident.” After a slight pause, he wiggled his shoulders and added, “But yeah, I guess I’m okay.”

  No doubt thinking again that being a PI wasn’t the safest occupation. Not exactly optimal for the PI’s friends, either.

  “I did find out some interesting information about Andy Timmons tonight, and I appreciate that. Thanks.”

  “Asking Rita about those other names was good thinking. I’m glad the evening wasn’t a total waste.”

  Cate thought he was just going to zoom off, but he pushed up the faceplate of his helmet and leaned over to kiss her. Scents of smoke and beer still drifted around him, a fog invisible but potent, and kissing in a moto
rcycle helmet was rather like trying to kiss with oversized braces. But, in spite of a clunk on her jaw with the chin guard on his helmet, Mitch’s determination turned it into a memorable kiss.

  Perhaps catching a whiff of his own scent, he muttered, “I’m going home and taking a shower.”

  “You might throw those clothes in the washer too.”

  “I could keep them as mementos of the night. I’ve never been in a bar fight before.”

  Saying “first time for everything” didn’t seem like a helpful comment, so Cate just leaned over and dropped a careful kiss on his nose. He waited at the end of the walkway until she was safely inside. She watched from a window as he made a slow descent rather than his usual zoom down the steep driveway to the street.

  Inside, Octavia jumped down from the window seat with a welcoming meow and then accompanied Cate to the bathroom. Cate stripped off her clothes and kicked them into a pile to dump in the washer. They hadn’t come in direct contact with either smoke or beer, but the scents seemed to be immortalized in the fibers anyway. Octavia curled up in the sink and kept Cate company while she showered. She toweled off, still thinking the same thought that had dogged her all the time she was under the hot spray of water. Now what? She didn’t relish the answer that came to mind, but it was something that had to be done.

  They hadn’t discussed the next day, but Mitch showed up at his usual time for church together. Cate ran out to the SUV to meet him so he wouldn’t have to run through the rain to come into the house. Last night’s sprinkle had expanded into a downpour, fresh-scented but not mood-lifting. She climbed into the SUV, and Clancy gave her his usual slurpy welcome. Mitch, in dark glasses in spite of the rain, handed her the purse she’d left at his condo before their visit to the biker bar.

  His swollen jaw wasn’t too noticeable now. But probably only because, when he pushed the dark glasses back on his head, it was overshadowed by a spectacular black eye.

  Cate gave a little gasp when she saw it. “I didn’t realize you’d gotten hit there too.”

  “Neither did I, until I got up this morning. Maybe I bumped into someone’s knee when I was crawling around down there on the floor. Or maybe that’s where Rita’s purse got me.”

  No doubt any number of dangerous possibilities when you were on the floor in a bar brawl.

  “Can I do anything to help?” Cate asked. Technically she wasn’t responsible for his injuries, but she still felt responsible. She leaned across the seat and brushed a fingertip around the black eye. “It’s kind of attractive, actually, in a tough-guy way. Very macho. Even mysterious.”

  “No photos, please,” he muttered.

  A new family filled Uncle Joe and Rebecca’s usual spot in the third row of seats at church. Most people already knew why they were missing, and Cate explained to a few who didn’t. Mitch kept the dark glasses on in church, but the bump on his jaw drew some curious looks and questions. He merely said, “Long story,” and didn’t offer details.

  After church, Mitch offered Sunday dinner somewhere, but Cate could see that at the moment, his eagerness for dinner rivaled his enthusiasm for another jaunt to the Midnight Logger. She suggested he go on home and take it easy for the day, and he didn’t argue. She had her own project in mind anyway, and she didn’t want Mitch involved. She’d already caused him enough grief by getting him into a bar brawl.

  Back home, she changed into jeans and heated a can of noodle soup for lunch. The rain wasn’t letting up. Water slid down the concrete driveway in a silvery sheen, and small rivers burbled along the curbs down on the street. She’d just poured the soup into a bowl when her landline phone rang.

  “Belmont—” She broke off and corrected that. “Kinkaid Investigations. Cate Kinkaid speaking.”

  “Hi, Cate, this is Seth Erickson in Salem. You remember me? The guy who didn’t get to take you to dinner?”

  “Yes, of course. Nice to hear from you. Did you think of something?”

  “I don’t know that it means anything, but I thought I’d tell you.”

  Cate made an encouraging murmur.

  “There used to be two women working in the office, but the second one moved down to California somewhere. She’d done the bookkeeping, but Kane didn’t replace her. I guess he could do it well enough himself to send on to the CPA, where it got coordinated with the Eugene books. Or something like that. I’m not much into bookkeeping, as you can probably tell.”

  “I see.” Though she didn’t really see where Seth was going with this.

  “So that was a while back, and then a month or six weeks ago, some bean-counter guy showed up to look at the records. This according to Angie. I saw him myself a couple times because he must have been there a couple days. Looking for lost nickels or whatever it is those audit guys do.”

  “Was an audit something that was done regularly?” Cate asked.

  “I have no idea.”

  “Was it Mr. Blakely’s idea to do this?”

  “No idea about that either. Although I remember Angie saying he seemed surprised when the guy showed up. He came out and worked in the shop while the guy was there, and he seemed kind of jittery. I wondered if maybe the guy was from the IRS.”

  “I suppose that would make anyone nervous. Did you hear anything more after it was over?”

  “Angie said she was really curious and kind of hinted around to Kane what the guy was doing. She said Kane just made a joke about it. He got all mournful looking and said something like, ‘Oh, it’s a disaster. They’re onto us. They’ve found out about those ten tons of hubcaps we shipped to Lower Slobbovia to be made into radiator caps for jet airplanes.’ Angie said it kind of scared her for a minute, but then it finally occurred to her that we’ve never had ten tons of hubcaps, let alone shipped them anywhere. And jet planes don’t have radiator caps.”

  “I’ve heard he was kind of a tease,” Cate said. Kane had also, she realized, effectively dodged giving Angie any real answer about what the bean counter had been doing in the office.

  “So I don’t know that this means anything. But I thought I’d tell you. I mean, that dude was looking for something.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate your calling me.”

  “It also gives me an opportunity to say that the dinner and movie offer is still open. I could be persuaded to drive down to Eugene, so you wouldn’t even have to make the trip up here.”

  “Thanks, Seth. But I really am still involved.”

  Although maybe not for long.

  “And thanks again for calling,” she added.

  Cate tossed Seth’s information back and forth in her head. The bean counter could have been an IRS auditor, as Seth had suggested. But, if it was a private auditor, and Kane was surprised, Halliday must have sent him.

  A routine thing, to determine whether the Salem branch should be closed? But the CPA could surely have provided those figures. Was Halliday checking up on the figures Kane was turning over to the CPA?

  A little after 3:00, Cate grabbed an umbrella by the garage door as she went out to her car. By the time she parked at the convenience store, she figured it was close to Lily’s break time.

  Inside, she spotted Lily at the cash register. She circled around to the refrigerated shelves in back and picked up a couple of cold drinks. She grabbed a bag of chips on the way to the cash register. Only one person was ahead of her.

  She set her purchases on the counter. “Hi, Lily.”

  Grunt. With all the hospitality of a door slam in the face of a bill collector.

  “I was thinking maybe we could share your break again.”

  “I’m really busy,” Lily said.

  Oh? Unlike the sunny spring day when Cate had been here before, today the convenience store could be a poster store for economic downturn. One older man glumly inspected the packaged sandwiches, and a tired-looking woman with a baby on her hip studied a tabloid photo showing some movie star proudly displaying her sleek belly only six weeks after giving birth.

  “I’m i
n no hurry. I can wait,” Cate said.

  “I don’t want to talk to you.” Lily rang up Cate’s purchases, dumped them in a plastic bag, accepted a ten-dollar bill, and gave her change. “Have a nice day,” she added, managing to make it sound like a voodoo curse.

  The older man selected a sandwich, and Cate stepped aside to let him pay for it. When he left, she moved up to the counter again.

  “I don’t have any questions to bother you with today. I just need to tell you something.”

  That wasn’t totally accurate. Cate had wanted to ask what Lily knew about the Andy/Artie name thing. But she’d settle for warning Lily that Andy’s past might mean she was in a more dangerous relationship than she realized.

  “Something I think you need to know before you move off to Arizona or somewhere with Andy,” Cate added.

  Another brush-off wouldn’t have surprised her, but Lily showed a hint of reluctant interest when she folded her arms across her chest, spread her feet in a belligerent stance, and said, “So tell me.”

  “Could we go out to my car again?” Was this how Lily’s brother had felt when he’d tried to talk sense into her? Like he might as well talk to one of those chunks of firewood? She held up the plastic sack. “I bought snacks for both of us.”

  “It’s raining.”

  Irrefutable logic there. It was raining, pouring down heavier than ever. Cate started to point out that she had an umbrella, but then she realized Lily wasn’t even looking at her now. Cate turned and saw a figure clad in a khaki raincoat just coming through the door. No hat, and drops of rain beaded his dark hair and mustache.

  Andy recognized her, Cate could tell. One thing about tomatoes-on-fire red hair, even if the rest of you was forgettable, people tended to remember the hair. Had Lily told Andy that Cate had been here snooping for information about his connection to Mace?

  “Hey,” he said. He didn’t look ready to attack or run to avoid her, but neither was he giving off happy-reunion vibes. “Some rain, huh?”

  Cate could go along with Andy’s small-talk ploy, but she made a quick decision. If Lily wouldn’t talk to her privately, she’d have to do it another way. Lily needed to know this.