Lionel took the seat on the other side of the desk with an exasperated sigh. “Your dad hurt you, and now he’s back. That has to mean something.”
“It means if I’m lucky, I might get him to pay me the money he borrowed.” I picked up three pencils and slid them into a kid-size roller skate. No one could find the left skate, so I used the right one as a pen holder. Was I creative or what?
“Rebecca!”
My head snapped up. Lionel only called me Rebecca in that tone of voice when he was at the end of his rope. Well, that made two of us.
“Look,” I said. “My father is back in town and everyone in town knew about it before I did, which really sucks. So yeah, I’m not having a great day. But I’m fine. This is not an Oprah show in the making. I’m just going to throw myself into work. People always say that’s what a person should do, right?”
Lionel had the nerve to laugh. “Do you really think handing out roller skates and serving nachos is going to make you forget your problems?”
Okay, maybe not. The pain in my head began throbbing in earnest. There had to be a better way of distracting myself than listening to the Village People sing “YMCA.”
I smiled at Lionel. “I’m going to throw myself into finding a rink manager. Doreen has a buyer for the rink, but one of the conditions is having a rink manager who understands the business and is running the show when the new owner takes over.”
Lionel looked like I’d hit him over the head with a wet fish. “You sold the rink?”
Oops. “I must have forgotten to mention it last night,” I said. “The burning car distracted me. Doreen called yesterday and told me about the buyer. If everything works out, the rink will be sold by the end of the month.”
I waited for Lionel to congratulate me.
He didn’t.
“I thought you said you were starting to like living here.”
The low, subdued tone of Lionel’s voice sent my radar spinning. “I did say that,” I agreed. “And I meant it.”
Lionel’s eyes narrowed. “But?”
My radar was shrieking now. For a second, I considered fainting—except that Lionel would probably wait around for me to regain consciousness so he could continue his interrogation. He wanted me to give up Chicago and live in Indian Falls. He’d pushed me on the subject more than once. Only, my heart wasn’t sure how it felt about Lionel. He was incredibly attractive, great in a crisis, wonderful with children and animals, and he made me almost consider keeping the rink.
Almost.
The problem was, I didn’t like being pushed into anything. Right now, Lionel was being pushy, and it made me want to push right back.
“But I came back here to sell the rink, and until I decide otherwise, that is what I am going to do.” I raised an eyebrow of my own and stared at Lionel. “Got it?”
His eyes widened for a moment. Then he shrugged out of his chair and crossed to my side of the desk. Before I could see what was coming, I was snatched out of my chair and crushed against Lionel’s chest.
“I got it, but I think it is time you understood something. For some crazy reason, I care about you. A lot. The two of us have something going. You don’t want to define it, and I’m okay with that for now. That being said, I’m not going to just let you waltz out of town without a fight.”
He barked out the last word and crushed his mouth against mine. My knees trembled as white-hot shivers traveled from my lips down to my toes. His lips slanted over mine with a passion that left me dizzy, and I grabbed his arms to steady myself. His tongue touched mine, sending my heartbeat into overdrive.
And then it was over. Lionel pulled away, leaving me breathless and wanting more. I took a step toward him, but Lionel took two back.
“Think about that kiss. Then ask yourself if selling this place and leaving town is something you really want to do.”
Before I could find my voice, Lionel turned on his heel and disappeared.
I sagged against my desk with a sigh. Great. As if I didn’t have enough problems right now.
Grabbing my purse and the bottle of Excedrin, I headed for the door. I was pretty sure my attempt at finding a rink manager wasn’t going to keep my mind off of both my father and Lionel. Maybe tracking down a pyromaniac car thief would.
Seven
The lunch crowd had already left by the time I steered my car to the Hunger Paynes Diner. Sammy and Mabel Pezzolpayne had owned and operated this Indian Falls establishment ever since I could remember. The whitewashed exterior was due for another coat of paint, and the menus were streaked with grease. Still, the Indian Falls faithful came in droves for fluffy flapjacks, ice-cream confections, juicy burgers, and, of course, the inevitable heartburn.
I was here for information on my father’s visit and maybe a snack. My stomach was decidedly unhappy to have missed lunch. I took a seat on one of the faded red stools at the counter and looked around the room.
Only three of the diner’s scarred Formica tables were occupied. Two back booths were packed with teenagers. Closer to the door sat four older ladies. One of them waved. Inwardly, I groaned, but I waved back. The four women were fans of Pop. The waver had dreams of becoming Priscilla to my grandfather’s Elvis. Thank goodness Pop wasn’t prepared to share his Graceland permanently.
I picked up a menu and scanned the lunch specials. My grand intentions of eating a salad went out the window as I spotted the meat-loaf sandwich. No one made meat loaf like Sammy.
As if on cue, Sammy shuffled behind the counter with a wide, gap-toothed smile. “If it isn’t Miss Rebecca Robbins. What can I get for you today?”
“Hey, Sammy.” I smiled back at him. When my dad left, Sammy was of the few people in Indian Falls who never treated me and Mom any differently. That meant something. “I’ll have a diet Coke and the meat-loaf special.”
Sammy hollered my order back to Mabel in the kitchen and came back to the counter with my soda. I took a sip and looked at Sammy over my straw. “I hear you had a big crowd here last night.”
“Every Tuesday, Mabel makes stew. Her lamb stew always brings the customers in.”
I smiled at the pride in Sammy’s voice before asking, “Did you see my father in here?”
Sammy dropped his gaze and suddenly decided the counter wasn’t clean. He grabbed a rag and attacked a phantom spot with a vengeance. “He was here. Hadn’t darkened this doorway in a long time, but I recognized him. Stan hasn’t changed much.”
“No, he hasn’t.” I was doing my best to ignore the icky sensation growing in the pit of my stomach. “Did he come in alone?”
A scarlet flush crept up Sammy’s neck.
“Yeah,” he said in a low voice. “Stan was alone when he got here.”
I took pity on the guy. “Sammy, I know my father wasn’t alone for very long. I saw him and Doreen together this morning.”
Sammy’s eyes lifted from the counter. “You saw them?”
I nodded.
“I didn’t want to be the one to tell you.” He rubbed at his forehead with the back of his hand. “You father was a nincompoop for leaving you and your mamma. Then he comes here years after and makes a bigger horse’s behind of himself. I wanted to serve him day-old bread and wilted lettuce, but Mabel wouldn’t let me. Said it would be bad for business.” Sammy lowered his voice to conspiracy level. “But I made sure to skimp him on the fries, and he never got a refill on his coffee.”
I gave Sammy’s weathered hand a grateful pat and told him, “You’re not the only one to get revenge. Someone nicked Stan’s car from the retirement home’s parking lot.”
Sammy’s face broke into a brilliant smile. “Hadn’t heard that. Good. The man deserves to be taken down a couple of pegs.”
I gave a noncommittal shrug. It felt wrong to condemn my father in a public forum. After all these years, I still couldn’t shake the bonds of family loyalty. Let’s face it: I was an easy mark.
“Hey, Sammy, could you do me a favor? Could you tell me who else was her
e in the diner last night while my father was?”
“I guess so.” Sammy refilled my half-empty diet Coke and came around the counter to sit on the stool next to me. “The Lutheran Women’s Guild was here. They ignored Agnes and Eleanor, who were seated at the next table. Poor Agnes. After what her nephew did, you would think those church ladies would be nicer to her.”
Agnes had been a suspect in the Indian Falls murder that I solved. Turned out her nephew was actually the culprit. To his credit, the killing of his friend had been an accident. He’d only intended to make the guy sick and frame his aunt for it. Because of my inept interference, the guy was going to get twenty to life instead of Agnes’s money. Despite her nephew’s nasty intentions toward her, Agnes visited her nephew at least twice a month. He was the only family she had left.
I was so busy feeling sorry for her that I almost missed Sammy’s next list of people.
“Zach was here after the garage closed, and most of the Indian Falls football team came in after they finished practice. Some of them left early, but a lot of them stayed for a couple hours.”
A bunch of rowdy guys were good suspects for car thefts and explosions. I was betting the thief had come into the diner last night during the time good old Dad blew into town. It was the only way I could think of to explain how the thief had picked Stan’s car. Could someone have felt like Sammy and decided to take Stan down a peg? That didn’t explain Jimmy’s car, but maybe it was an angry customer playing copycat. Somehow, I found that hard to believe, but anything was possible.
“Anyone else?”
“The pastor and his secretary were here for a few minutes to pick up some sandwiches. Reginald and Bryan stopped in and talked to a few of the firemen about the car explosion. There might have been a few others, but I was doing kitchen duty. Mabel was working the front. If you want, I can ask her what she remembers.”
As if on cue, Mabel popped her head of curly gray hair out from the kitchen. “Food’s getting cold.” She saw me and broke into a smile. “Hi, Rebecca. Gossip says you might be selling the rink soon and moving back to the city.”
“That’s the plan.”
Mabel’s smile faded. “Well, we will sure miss you. Having you living here in town is almost like having your mother back.”
Sammy scooted behind the counter and followed his wife into the kitchen. A minute later, he placed a steaming plate of meat loaf in front of me, then shuffled off to fill coffee cups and take orders for pie.
The smell of my meal was mouthwatering. Three large slabs of meat loaf sat on top of toasted bread. Next to it was a bed of creamy mashed potatoes. A generous amount of gravy covered both. Too bad Mabel’s kind words had sunk to the bottom of my stomach like lead. Feeling like I was letting the town, my mother, and maybe myself down had ruined my appetite. I’d just have to take it to go.
Armed with a large take-home container of food, I snagged a promise from Mabel to call me if she thought of any other diners in attendance last night, then hit the road. First stop on my list was the local mechanic and all-around nice guy, Zach Zettle.
The minute Sammy mentioned that Zach was in the diner, my ears had pricked up. Zach was the kind of guy who looked tough but had a heart as mushy as a marshmallow. He was also a walking encyclopedia of automotive knowledge—an area in which I needed a crash course, literally.
Ten minutes later, almost time enough for the air conditioning in my Civic to take effect, I pulled into the parking lot of Zach’s business. A red pickup, a shiny black Ford Taurus, and a sleek white BMW sat in the lot, waiting for Zach’s attention.
I peeled the back of my shorts-clad legs from my leather seats and strolled toward the garage. A blue truck was up on the lift when I peered into the building. Garth Brooks bellowed from the radio, and Zach was nowhere in sight.
“Hello?” I yelled, competing with Garth. No one answered. Score one for Garth.
Stepping into the garage, I tiptoed around a puddle of some oily substance and crossed toward the car. “Hello,” I called again.
Nothing.
I leaned against the truck and decided to wait. Now Garth Brooks was singing all low and soft and sultry. I tapped my toe to his growly music and swayed my hips against the car, enjoying the solitude.
Something slithered against my ankle. “Hey,” I yelled. My eyes snapped downward while I said a little prayer to God that it wasn’t a snake.
Five fingers were clamped around my left ankle. Unless reptiles had developed opposable thumbs, I was safe from fang bites.
Giving my ankle a yank, I took a step backward and stooped down to peer under the car. There was Zach, lying on his back under the truck. At least I thought it was Zach under all that grease. A second later, he rolled out from under the car and blinked up at me.
I waved. “Hi. Did I catch you at a bad time?”
The obvious answer was yes, but Zach didn’t blow me off. He just shrugged and climbed to his feet.
His six-foot-something frame was draped in clothes worthy of a Wes Craven horror movie. Streaks of gooey black, rusty orange, and colors I’d never seen in the Crayola box decorated what probably had once been a blue coverall. Picasso would have declared Zach a work of art. I declared him a mess.
Zach ran an oily hand through his shaggy brown hair and smiled. “I’m glad you swung by. I need a break.” He walked past me to a scarred workbench. With a flip of Zach’s grease-corroded fingers, Garth stopped singing. Grabbing a sparkling-clean bottle of water, he asked, “What brings you out here? Does your car need some work?”
“Nope. Car runs great.” I leaned back against the truck. Normally, I would have looked for a place to sit, but the truck was the cleanest thing in the garage. For the sake of my laundry, I’d stand. “I’m looking into the car-theft thing and thought I should ask you a few questions.”
“You think I stole Jimmy’s rusted VW?” A smile twitched under the grime.
I arched an eyebrow. “I trust you have better taste in automobiles.”
Zach saluted me with the water bottle, chugged half of the liquid, and screwed the cap back on. The bottle took on the same soot color as the rest of the joint. “So, what kind of questions do you need me to answer?”
“You were in the diner last night. Do you remember who else was there?” His confused expression made me smile. “I know it sounds weird, but I have a theory. Humor me.”
He looked up at the ceiling with his mouth open. This was Zach’s “I’m concentrating” look. I’d watched him use it twice a month at Lionel’s poker game. Every so often, I decided to take target practice. So far, I’d managed to land three pieces of popcorn and two pretzels in his mouth. Right now I was kind of sad I’d left the popcorn at home. Zach had never given me a better target.
“Okay,” he said. “I was reading a magazine while I ate dinner, but I remember the football team being there. Agnes was there with Doc’s secretary. Your dad came in next, and not too long behind him was Doreen and her band of bingo buddies. Once all the guys from the firehouse arrived, the place got a little loud. Did you really find Jimmy’s car already in flames, or did you do the town a service and light it yourself?”
“Sorry to ruin your theory, but the bonfire was already going when I arrived.”
Zach looked disappointed, then shrugged. “That car wouldn’t have lived much longer anyway. The transmission was shot. Jimmy should have bought a new one years ago.”
I steered the conversation back to the previous night. “Do you remember anyone else coming into the diner?”
Zach’s eyes searched the ceiling again before he shook his head. “Sorry. I was up early working on Sheriff Jackson’s tractor yesterday and was a little foggy by the time I got to eat last night. Speaking of food, I haven’t gotten around to having lunch. Do you mind if we go to the diner and talk?”
As if on cue, Zach’s stomach gave a low rumble.
“I have a better idea,” I said. I sprinted out to my car, leaving Zach gaping after me. Snagging
the still-warm Styrofoam container of meat loaf, I trotted back to the garage. With a flip of the lid, I asked, “Would this do?”
The man looked as if he was going to cry. Mabel’s meat loaf was known to have that effect. Zach reached for the food with his greasy hands, and I pulled the container back.
“Wash first,” I said. “Then you eat.”
Zach didn’t argue. He bolted for the nearest sink and returned in a hurry with his face and hands scrubbed.
While Zach shoveled meat loaf into his mouth, I asked, “So how hard is it to boost a car?”
Zach considered the question while scooping up some mashed potatoes. “Hot-wiring a car can be tricky nowadays. Most new cars have computers and protective systems built in. Stealing a car used to be easy when we were kids. With all the new technology, boosting a car today takes a lot more skill.”
I thought about that as he chewed. “So stealing older cars like Jimmy’s VW and my father’s Skyhawk would be easier than lifting one of the cars in your parking lot.”
He nodded.
Okay, the thing about old cars sort of made sense to me now. But why torch the car after you’d boosted it? Didn’t that defeat the purpose?
I was about ready to leave, when I had another thought. “Hey, did you overhear my father talking about anything last night?”
Zach’s shoulders tensed. “Hard to miss. No offense, but your dad is loud.”
“He likes the sound of his own voice,” I explained. Or at least he used to. I wasn’t exactly an expert on the subject.
“That was the impression I got. He was busy talking to the bingo ladies about his really successful business. When the firemen came in, your dad looked annoyed that he’d lost center stage. Then he got even louder, telling everyone how he needed to get a new car, only he never had time to shop for one. Too busy being successful, I guess.”
Skating Over the Line Page 5
