Skating Over the Line

  Waves of heat licked at my neck. The voice of sanity in the back of my brain instructed me to turn back. It was probably a smart idea, but when did I ever do the smart thing? Brushing a stream of sweat from my nose, I inched forward, hoping to see signs of life.

  Only there weren’t any. I inched closer. The person inside the car wasn’t moving at all. This was very bad.

  A tire exploded, sending me to the ground and pieces of hot rubber flying like fireworks. Scrambling to a safe distance, I contemplated the wisdom of another rescue attempt as the Indian Falls fire truck and ambulance arrived.

  By the time they got the hose hooked up and the water running, the other three tires had burst. I watched them put out the rest of the fire before it could run rampant in the field. Then I saw the paramedic race in. I knew before he started shaking his head that the news wasn’t good.

  Eyes misting, I couldn’t help being thankful that I hadn’t had time to attempt any more heroics. Those last three tires would have gotten me for sure. I just wished the person inside had been as lucky.

  “Why is it that whenever there’s a disaster, I find you standing near it?”

  The masculine voice raised goose bumps up and down my arm. Turning, I looked into Dr. Lionel Franklin’s handsome face. Despite the lighthearted tone he’d used, I could see concern deep in his green eyes. Sadly, Lionel was right. My time in Indian Falls had been filled with disasters both big and small. Tonight’s had a body count.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked. Lionel’s veterinary practice and his home were located a good twenty minutes away.

  “Being a volunteer fireman doesn’t do much for my bank account, but it’s a good way to keep up with the news.” Lionel reached out and brushed my cheek. The contact made me shiver. Lionel’s touch always had an effect on me, and right now it took every impulse control I owned to keep from flinging myself into the comfort of his arms.

  Since I’d come back to town, we’d been doing a bizarre dance between friendship and dating. It’d involved a couple of movies, a ride on his retired circus camel, and some serious make-out sessions.

  But no sex.

  Lionel had great lips and very gentle hands. My body’s reaction to his kisses told me, no question, doing the deed with him would have a serious impact on me and tip the delicate balance of our relationship. I wasn’t sure I was ready for either. Especially now that I’d seen a burned body. My equilibrium was shot.

  “I’ve also just been appointed the backup coroner. Doc Truman is out of town, so they called me when you said a body was in the car.” Lionel’s mouth tightened. His fingers closed around mine. “Now, would you please tell me what the hell you’re doing out here?”

  All tingles of sexual interest vanished. I took a step back and pulled my hand away as if I’d burned it. “You make it sound as if Jimmy’s car going up in smoke is my fault.”

  He sighed. “Becky, with you I wouldn’t be so sure it’s not. You seem to attract trouble.”

  “Look,” I yelled while jabbing a finger in his direction. “This is not my fault. My grandfather wanted me to help get Jimmy’s car back. That’s what I was doing when I stumbled across this bonfire. If I had only gotten here a little sooner, I might have been able to rescue—” My throat tightened at the memory of the burned figure. I tried to finish my sentence, but nothing came out. I sniffled hard and choked back a sob. I wasn’t going to cry. At least not right now. So I raised my voice and changed the subject. “When did you get to be the backup coroner? You never told me that. Don’t you have to be a people doctor to qualify for the job?”

  “I took a class and a certification test,” Lionel shouted back. “Animals and people aren’t all that different.”

  Everyone turned at the sound of Lionel’s very loud, very angry voice. I couldn’t help but notice that no one ever seemed to care when it was me doing the shouting. Redheads are expected to be a trifle dramatic, but hearing the trusted vet screeching like a banshee was a bit out of everyone’s comfort range.

  To his credit, Lionel didn’t bother to look embarrassed. He just shook his head and lowered his voice. “Look, I was worried about you. Less than two months ago you were stalked and then held at gunpoint by a murderer. Can you blame me for being concerned? I don’t want you involved in another dangerous investigation. I don’t think I can handle it.”

  With that, my anger, like Jimmy’s car, was extinguished. I found it hard to stay mad at someone I cared about. Besides, I kind of understood how he felt. For most Indian Falls residents, coming across dead bodies and exploding cars wasn’t part of the normal routine. Truth was, I’d been so shocked at the sight of a flaming car that I’d gone kind of numb. Now that my mind was working again, my legs jiggled like Jell-O.

  I took a steadying breath. “Okay, I think it’s safe to say we were both a little upset by Jimmy’s barbecued car. Truce?”

  The crooked smile he gave me made my heart dive into my stomach. His hand latched onto my arm and gave me a tug toward him. A moment later, his lips brushed mine. I sighed. My legs were still a little wobbly, but at least now I could blame their instability on Lionel’s kiss instead of on the explosion.

  “Ms. Robbins.”

  I cringed at the sound of that voice. Turning, I spotted Deputy Sean Holmes standing five feet behind me. He looked as though he’d been sucking on a less than ripe lemon.

  “Hi, Sean.” I gave him my best smile and a little finger wave, hoping to improve his disposition. No such luck.

  “If you can tear yourself away, I would like to have a word with you.”

  “Go ahead,” Lionel said, abandoning me to the wolf in cop’s clothing. “I’m going to see if I can help the guys stow the fire hose. Someone will let me know when I need to look at the body.” With that, he headed for the flashing lights. I couldn’t blame him for not seeking out his deceased patient immediately. I didn’t want to think about the person in that car, let alone examine him.

  Mustering a pleasant expression, I strolled up to Deputy Sean. “What can I do for you?”

  Sean gave me his best stern-cop expression. A flip of his notebook and he went into his cop routine. “You’re the one who reported Jimmy’s car on fire?”

  I was certain the dispatcher, Roxy, had already told him that. Still, I replied, “Yes,” then waited for Sean to jump all over me.

  In a very professional voice, he continued. “The report says no one besides yourself was here when you arrived at the scene. Did any cars pass you on the road on the way to the Schmitts’ farm?”

  For the first time, I realized where I was. This was Alan Schmitt’s field. When I was in grade school, Mom and I would come here to get corn stalks for Halloween.

  “No. I think the roads were deserted, but I wasn’t really paying attention. I was just trying to get here fast. The person in the car…” I said in a quiet voice. “Is the person…” Dead. I couldn’t say it, but Sean’s softening expression told me he understood.

  “I shouldn’t tell you this, but I know you’ll find out from your boyfriend.” The annoyed, almost jealous tone Sean used when saying the word boyfriend made me almost miss hearing him say, “The body wasn’t real.”

  Huh? I blinked. The words made no sense. I’d seen the body.

  “What do you mean, it wasn’t real?”

  Sean gave me a look that said he suspected I was hard of hearing. “It was a mannequin. One of those life-size dolls people use in store displays.”

  “I know what a mannequin is. Why was it there?”

  He shrugged. “That will be one of the first questions I ask when I arrest the person who did this. You’re sure you didn’t see any other cars?”

  “No. I didn’t notice any other headlights, but I guess I could have missed someone who was driving without their headlights on.” Driving without headlights in the country was dangerous, but so was blowing up cars. Although they would have had to have driven in the opposite direction; otherwise, in my extreme haste to get here, I wo
uld have hit them. Somehow I didn’t think mentioning to a cop that I’d been breaking the speed limit was a good idea. So instead, I added, “I’m guessing the person who did this was on foot.”

  The book snapped shut. “Guessing doesn’t solve crimes. Police work based on evidence and well-developed deductive reasoning does.”

  My back stiffened at the condescending tone in Sean’s voice.

  “Amateurs like you rely on luck. The truth is, your attempts to help only get in the way of people like me who are trained and actually know what we’re doing.”

  His words waved a red cape in my head.

  “Got it?” he demanded.

  Sure, I got it. Sean Holmes didn’t want me anywhere near this case. Well, something told me Sean was going to be disappointed.

  * * *

  Sure enough, early the next morning I found myself delegating work so I could head back to the scene of the explosion. I couldn’t shake the fact I had missed something important at the scene. Sean would have a fit if he found me there, but curiosity beat out my fear of being arrested any day.

  Parking in the same spot as last night, I hopped out and looked around. Jimmy’s car was gone, which wasn’t going to help my investigation. Still, on an up note, so was Deputy Sean. Aside from two guys in a neighboring field, the place was deserted. No one was here to notice me as I stepped around the police tape and poked around.

  Aside from a lot of wet, trampled hay, there wasn’t much to look at. Black scorch marks from the fire darkened the ground, making a good outline of where Jimmy’s car had once sat. Now it was resting in car heaven. Meanwhile, I was shoe-deep in mud, trying to decide why.

  I walked around the scene, waiting for a psychic moment to hit and tell me who’d done it. Ten minutes later, there was no word from the great beyond. I decided to pack it in. Walking back through the field of hay, I once again realized how lucky the farmer who owned this place was. The fire last night had burned really hot. I’d been able to feel the heat coming off the car sitting in the middle of the field as I stood on the road. A fire like that should have torched everything in its path.

  So why hadn’t it?

  What would prevent fire from spreading through a hay field?

  Hand on my car, I pondered the question. Rain? No rain had fallen recently. The farmers eating at the diner had been complaining about the lack of moisture for the past two weeks. Besides, the heat wave would have kept the fields dry no matter how advanced the irrigation system. The unburned, very dry hay all around me made no sense.

  Unless someone had intentionally saved the field. Maybe the same someone who’d checked whether Jimmy had insurance before destroying his car? Of course, if that was the case, this was the most considerate criminal I’d ever heard of.

  Not sure what else to do, I steered my car toward the nearest farmhouse. Who knows, I thought, maybe the farmer who owns the place knows something. It was worth checking out. Besides, it was the only lead I had.

  Five

  Several hours later, I’d learned that Mr. Toberman kept a loaded shotgun next to him while driving his tractor, that Mrs. Moore wanted to give the pyromaniac a medal for removing a town eyesore, and that Alan Schmitt thought aliens had landed in his field and caused the explosion. A truly productive afternoon.

  Back in town, I steered my car into a parking spot outside Something’s Brewing, Indian Falls’s answer to Starbucks. The store was located around the corner from the sheriff’s office, but my need for a pick-me-up outweighed my sense of self-preservation.

  Something’s Brewing was run by a guy named Sinbad Smith. Sinbad was a big Egyptian man who’d set up shop here just after I’d hightailed it to the big city. Unlike many outsiders’ business ventures, Sinbad’s store was an instant success. I was guessing it was due more to the high-octane nature of his coffee than to Sinbad’s personality. The man was kind of pushy, but his coffeemaker was first-rate. When a person needed a caffeine fix, that was all that mattered.

  I stepped into Something’s Brewing and inhaled deeply. There’s nothing like the smell of fresh coffee, especially in a homey environment. Sinbad’s shop was decorated a lot like a hunting lodge. Three small wooden tables with chairs were situated around the small storefront window, and a brown leather sofa and two chairs were arranged around an unlit fireplace. Over the fireplace hung a large deer head. The deer head made my flesh creep, but not enough to keep me away. The two teenagers standing in line probably felt the same way.

  The girls said hello while waiting for their iced lattes. The two were regulars at the rink. Once they got their drinks, they beat it out the door, leaving me to ponder whether to get an iced mocha or a cinnamon latte.

  Sinbad’s lightly accented voice called to me from behind the large wooden counter. “Hey, Rebecca. I heard you found Jimmy’s car.”

  “Oh, I didn’t really do anything.”

  “Don’t be so modest. I am sure the sheriff would not have found the car for days if you had not been on the case. Everyone is saying how Jimmy was smart to hire you.”

  I tried not to cringe. Sinbad’s coffee shop was one of the first stops in the Indian Falls gossip train. It was only a matter of time before Deputy Sean heard the town’s opinion of my abilities. If I were smart, I’d take a vacation.

  “I’ll have a caramel-cinnamon latte with an extra shot.” I was going to need it.

  “This town is lucky to have you helping the sheriff. I am sure this must take away from time at your business.”

  That was one of the perks, but I could tell by Sinbad’s expression that he considered this a great sacrifice on my part. “It does,” I said with my best solemn expression.

  “But you must worry when you are not there to be in charge. Who do you trust to make the decisions when you are away?”

  The coffee machine began to hiss.

  “My staff is pretty good, and when they have a problem, they ask me about it.” Luckily, there weren’t many problems. As long as the music played and the skate counter was manned, things ran smoothly.

  “So you have not hired a manager yet? I remember you were looking, yes?” Sinbad poured an extra shot of coffee into a large cup, one eye under a raised eyebrow focused on me.

  Weird. Why would the vacant position of rink manager interest the owner of a coffee shop? Perhaps he was looking to hire his own manager. There were only so many people in town willing and able to fill management positions. Maybe he was sizing up the competition.

  I waited for him to add the foamed milk before saying, “Rink managers aren’t easy to come by in Indian Falls. But I’ll find one eventually.”

  Sinbad handed my drink across the counter with a wide smile. “I have the perfect manager for you.”

  I blinked. “What?”

  The twinkling chime rang in the shop as the door opened. Sinbad looked toward the door and proudly announced, “Rebecca Robbins, meet your new manager. My son, Max.”

  I turned toward the door. Sure enough, there was a tall young man with glasses and curly dark hair, and he didn’t look happy. In fact, I recognized that look. This guy was ready to blow.

  Max barked out a couple of words in a language I didn’t understand. Sinbad’s face turned crimson as he came out from behind the counter and yelled back. I didn’t need to be a linguist to understand. Max didn’t want the rink job, and his father was trying to shove him kicking and screaming into it.

  “You know,” I said, taking a step toward the exit, “I should really get back to the rink. We can talk about the job opening another time.”

  My feet rushed to make an escape.

  “We must talk about Max’s job now.” Sinbad stepped between me and the door. Unless I threw my hot latte on him, I was trapped. I looked down at my coffee and sighed. My body needed the caffeine. I was stuck.

  “Max is a good boy. He will be a good business manager. You will not be sorry you hired him.”

  “I don’t think—” Thank goodness I was cut off by Max, since I hadn’
t a clue what I was thinking.

  “Father, stop this, now. You know I am not meant to be a business manager.” Max took a step toward his father, allowing me to creep closer to the door.

  Sinbad set his shoulders. There was steel in his voice as he said, “You went to college. You are a smart boy. You can run any business.”

  “But I don’t want to. You know that. I’m going to direct movies. I already have a script, Father. It’s going to be really great. Once I have a movie in the can, I can show it to investors. Then I will start my own studio. If you ever watched any of my movies, you’d know I was serious. I have several at home you could see.…”

  Sinbad’s body went still the minute Max said the word movies. He sucked in a loud stream of air at his son’s prediction of greatness, and his hands clenched at his sides. That’s when I noticed the vein on the side of Sinbad’s neck begin to pulsate like that guy’s stomach in the movie Alien.

  It was really time to leave.

  “Hey, guys, I have to get back to work. Max, good luck on your movie.”

  I scooted my body around the two angry men and bolted out the door, thankful to escape. Watching two men pummel each other was only fun if they were on TV, wearing spandex and funny costumes. Wrestling allowed a girl to munch popcorn while admiring a guy’s butt. Sinbad didn’t have an ass I wanted to spend time staring at, even if it scored me a rink manager and a guaranteed sale.

  A few minutes later, I polished off my coffee and walked through the double doors into the rink. A blast of classical music hit me. Mornings at the rink were reserved for private lessons, which meant Tchaikovsky or Mozart instead of the Village People and Three Dog Night. Currently, my primary private instructor, George, was busy shouting instructions to Danielle Martinez, the Lutheran church’s secretary and a good friend of mine.

  I watched Danielle finish her program with a well-executed spin. She had only been taking lessons for two months, and her progress was amazing. George was hoping to have Danielle ready to compete in another six months.