I scratched the side of his face. That got me another eye roll and a throaty kind of grunt. I smiled. Not only was the camel real, but he liked me.
“I see you’ve met Elwood.”
I spun around and came face-to-face with over six feet of intense maleness. If this was the doctor, I could see why the women in town were in hot pursuit. He looked to be in his midthirties with tanned skin and a chiseled jaw. His thick brown hair that had probably needed a haircut three weeks ago now looked just plain sexy. In the barn’s dim light I couldn’t tell if his eyes were hazel or green, but either way, this man was perfection. Of course, there was one major drawback—he was covered in blood.
I took a step back and found myself wedged up against the camel’s stall praying this guy wasn’t the killer.
“Elwood? Oh. Sure. Elwood,” I rambled as the smell of the guy’s shirt turned my stomach. “I was looking for Dr. Franklin. The office was locked.”
“Sorry about that,” he said in a deep voice that almost made me forget the blood. “I had an emergency and forgot to change the sign. I’m Dr. Franklin, but folks around here call me Lionel.”
He held out a hand to shake mine, but I couldn’t do it. His hands were clean, but his long-sleeved shirt was caked with goo, and the smell was growing stronger.
He looked down at his clothes and grinned. “Excuse my clothes, but Doc Truman’s horse was giving birth and required my assistance. Birthing of any kind can be a little messy.”
“I can see that.” I let out a sigh of relief that the blood wasn’t human. I didn’t want this guy to be the killer. He was too good-looking for that kind of disappointment.
We stared at each other for a minute, not sure what to say. I felt a wet camel nose against my cheek and flinched, making Lionel laugh. It was a deep, rich sound that made my body hum.
“I see Elwood likes you. He doesn’t normally take to people so fast.”
I smiled and gave Elwood a pat, careful not to dislodge his fedora. “Elwood is a strange name for a camel.” Then again, I’d never met a camel, so what did I know?
Lionel scratched Elwood’s side and nodded. “I thought so, too, but it suits him. Elwood was a circus performer before he was sent to me. Strangely enough, he used to do a Blues Brothers act with a clown. They tell me it took the clown a year to train Elwood to wear a hat, and now he won’t go without one for more than a couple of minutes.”
“I’m surprised the clown gave Elwood up. I’d think a hat-wearing camel would be big a box-office draw.” I know I’d buy a ticket. Right now I was trying to decide how well a camel would fit in my Wicker Park apartment.
Lionel put his forehead against Elwood’s, and the camel made another throaty noise. “The clown died, and Elwood became so depressed he wouldn’t eat. That’s why six months ago the circus manager brought Elwood to me. Turns out he liked it here, and he’s been with me ever since.” Lionel took a step back from the camel and let his eyes roam from my feet up to my hair, finally stopping to look me right in the eyes. “Now that you know me and Elwood, would you mind telling me who you are?”
“Oh, sorry.” I straightened my shoulders and gave him my perkiest smile. “My name is Rebecca Robbins. My mom owned the Toe Stop.”
“I’m sorry about your mother,” Lionel said, his eyes darkening with compassion. “She was a real nice lady.”
“Thanks.” My own eyes started to tear up, and I clenched my fist. I wasn’t going to get all weepy.
“So,” Lionel asked, scratching the camel’s side, “did you come by for a reason?”
My eyes widened. I had no idea what to say. A real investigator would have thought of a cover story, but I wasn’t a real investigator, so I hadn’t. And while honesty was normally the best policy, asking straight out if he killed Mack seemed like a bad idea. I looked around for inspiration. The guy was a vet. Talking about animals seemed like the most logical option, so I said, “I was thinking about getting my grandfather a pet and thought you might be able to recommend one.”
Lionel’s lips quivered. “Really?”
I nodded and expanded on my lie. “I hate the idea of Pop living alone and thought a pet would be good company.”
“From what I hear, he has plenty of company.”
My cheeks heated. Apparently, the whole town knew about Pop’s indiscreet sex life. Well, I couldn’t worry about that now. I had to focus on the problem in front of me—getting information and getting the hell out of here.
Cocking my head to one side, I said, “Maybe I came to the wrong place for advice.”
“Maybe you did.” Lionel took a step closer. “Unless you want to get your grandfather a cow. I’m a large animal veterinarian. Guess you didn’t read the sign when you drove up.”
“Guess not. Since you can’t help me, I should probably get out of your way.” I took two steps toward the door and turned. Doing my best casual voice, I asked, “Did you know Mack Murphy well? I heard he did some work for you.”
Lionel stared at me for a second, then grinned. “I was wondering when you were going to get around to that.”
My mouth dropped open, and Lionel started to laugh. The sound made me cringe from embarrassment and want to jump him at the same time. For a moment, I thought about coming clean about my investigation, but I decided against it. Just because Lionel was hot didn’t mean he was trustworthy. “I really am worried about Pop living alone,” I explained.
Lionel leaned against Elwood’s stall door and crossed his arms. “You also stopped by the sheriff’s office and Annette’s beauty parlor this morning and asked a lot of questions about Mack’s murder investigation.”
The yenta phone tree in Indian Falls was more efficient than the CIA. I had just been caught red-handed.
“Okay. I feel guilty Mack died in my rink, and Pop mentioned to me that Mack did some work for you. Since you knew Mack, I thought I’d ask you about him.” Okay, that was only part of the truth. Sue me.
“You forget to mention the fact that Doreen can’t sell a place with an unsolved murder looming over it.”
Busted again. “I liked my explanation better. Yours makes me sound self-centered.”
“Honey, you’re the one who used your widowed grandfather as an excuse to question me. What would you call that?” Lionel walked toward me, his body stopping only inches from mine. He was close enough that I could feel the heat coming off him. “Since you’re Kay’s daughter, I’ll tell you what you want to know. I hired Mack to do some roofing work. It took him a lot longer than it should have to get it finished, but he and I had a conversation about it over poker, and two days later it was done.”
Lionel’s head bent down. His lips were now within an inch of my face. Suddenly, the bloody clothes and the smell faded from my mind. “I didn’t kill Mack,” he said firmly, his green eyes staring into mine. “Isn’t that what you’re really here to ask?”
“No.” Yes. I took a step back, tripped over my own feet, and fell against the barn’s door frame. Lucky for me it was there; otherwise I would have ended up on my butt. Again.
Lionel pulled me fully upright and grinned. “Well, you let me know if you think I did it. I deserve a chance to try to change your mind.”
His hands on my shoulders sent little tingles down my spine. I licked my lips and couldn’t help asking, “How would you do that?”
He looked down at me. His smile told me that my attraction to him was obvious and that he was enjoying it. “I think we could figure something out. Right now I have to take a shower and get back to work.” He took a step toward the back of the barn and added, “I’ll let you know if I come up with a good pet for your grandfather.”
Lionel walked away from me down the center aisle of the barn. For a moment I enjoyed watching him go. Coming or going, Dr. Franklin looked good. Then, shaking my head, I scooted out to my car.
Minutes later, I was cruising the streets toward downtown feeling a little dejected about my PI abilities. In the last two and a half hours I’d di
scovered that Annette had purchased new mirrors and lights, Precious suffered from a personality disorder, and Lionel owned a camel that wore hats. While the information might make for interesting party conversation, none of it got me any closer to solving Mack’s murder or selling the rink. Hopefully Sheriff Jackson had finished pruning his daisies. Alzheimer’s or no, he’d be making better progress than I.
I drove to the rink and arrived with twenty minutes to spare. Walking toward the front door, I stopped dead in my tracks. My eyes were riveted on my mother’s newly refinished double doors. Yesterday when I left, the glass was sparkling clean. Today it had a bright red message scrawled across it.
GO HOME. MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS. OR ELSE.
Five
My first thought was “Okay.” I could hit the road tonight and be back in Chicago in time to meet some of my friends at the bar. Saturday was half-price margarita day at Uncle Hector’s Hacienda. The way my life was going, I needed at least a dozen.
Still, as much as I wanted to get out of this town and back to my real life, I wasn’t about to let a little graffiti chase me away. I was made of stronger stuff than that…I thought. Besides, my questions seemed to have actually hit a nerve. Despite my inexperience, my investigation might be getting somewhere after all.
Grabbing my cell phone, I dialed Roxy at the sheriff’s department. My voice only quavered once as I filled her in on my situation. She informed me that the sheriff was still busy at home but a deputy would be by soon. Then she hung up. No doubt Roxy wanted to get back to her personal grooming.
I turned my back on the threatening message, just as George’s beat-up Ford Escort pulled into the lot. George barely gave the car a chance to stop before he bounded out and came to stand in front of the door with his mouth slack and his eyes glazed.
Finally he spoke. “Who would do this? Your mother spent a fortune on these doors.”
Hmm…not my first or even second reaction.
I resisted the urge to yell at George because I liked him. His whole name was George Szczypiorski, but no one could pronounce it. I knew I couldn’t, but I could spell it since I was currently writing out his checks.
George was about ten years older than me with white-blond hair and a tall, lanky frame. Growing up, I was always hearing how beautiful George’s skating was and how I should try to be more like him. Well, now he was the rink’s only full-time teacher and the person I relied on to keep things limping along. This was scary because, though I liked him, George reminded me of the Misfit Elf who wanted to be a dentist. I was certain that if someone offered George a sequined turnip costume and a ten-dollar-a-week job in the Ice Capades, he’d leap at it. George liked shiny things and applause.
A squad car swung into the lot, and a sheriff’s deputy climbed out. “Well, what do we have here?”
He sauntered up next to George, and I groaned. The deputy was none other than Sean Holmes—three years older than me, perfection on the high school football field, and the biggest horse’s ass I’d ever had the privilege to meet. My day was just getting better and better.
“Hi, Sean. Thanks for getting here so fast.” I smiled, hoping he’d matured in the twelve years since high school.
He grinned back. “I’m pretty fast at everything.”
So much for maturity.
“So I guess you want me to take your statement?”
I did a mental eye roll. “Well, since you came all the way here, I guess we should.”
Sean walked back to his squad car just as George’s first student arrived. I let them in through the side door, then walked back to where Sean was standing with a clipboard.
Sean uncapped his pen. “Name.”
I gave him my best “you’re such a schmuck” look. “Oprah Winfrey.”
Sean wrote it down without blinking. “Address.”
It went on like that until he finally walked over to the door for a closer look. He snapped a couple of pictures with his camera phone and walked back toward me. Sean gave me the clipboard and asked me to sign the sheriff’s report, which I did.
“Don’t you think we should test the paint or something? You know, collect evidence of the crime.” My late-night television watching reared its head.
“No point.” Sean gave me a superior look. “My guess is all your poking around today asking questions pissed somebody off. If you’d let the sheriff’s department do their job, you wouldn’t have any problems. Keep your nose out of other people’s business and let trained professionals handle Mack’s murder. I’d hate to see anything happen to that pretty neck of yours.”
I took my copy of the official report, thanked Sean, and watched as he headed out of the parking lot—Indian Falls’ finest on his way to save the world. Too bad he didn’t seem all that interested in solving my graffiti problem.
Walking back to the doors, I took a closer look at the scrawled message. Huh. The words didn’t look like they were written in paint. I ran my finger along one of the letters, something Sean didn’t think of, and the writing smeared.
Lipstick?
I rummaged through my purse until I came up with a Dairy Queen napkin. Then I rubbed some of the graffiti onto it. With the sample safely stored in my purse, I proceeded inside to get a bucket of water and a sponge.
Mom had been very proud of those new doors. Cleaning them was the least I could do.
I spent the rest of the afternoon behind the rental counter giving out skates in exchange for my customers’ smelly shoes. The task required only two of my brain cells, which allowed the rest to think about Mack.
Mack taking money from people and not finishing the jobs they paid for didn’t sound right to me. My mother always said Mack was a stand-up guy who did good work. I remembered her mentioning that she’d hired him to do a bunch of the rink renovation.
I zipped back to the front office and checked the books. Sure enough. Mack had painted the rink walls and hung the new lights. Ironically, he’d even laid the bathroom tile. After each job my mom had drawn a smiley face—her bookkeeping technique for signaling a job well done. Several entries for other workers had frowny faces, but not Mack. A year ago Mack was still doing his job well, so what happened?
Around six o’clock, George popped his head into the office. He told me he was going to stay till close and could lock up. The rink wasn’t all that busy. Not surprising considering a murder had taken place here. Parents were going to be careful about letting their kids go out at all, let alone come here to skate. That meant the rink’s bottom line was going to take a hit. One more reason to solve the murder, I thought, as I grabbed my purse and headed home for the night.
Walking into Pop’s house, I could hear the television blaring from the living room. Peeking in, I saw Pop watching TV with a date. Terrified about what else I might see, I tiptoed past the doorway and headed up the stairs.
“Rebecca, is that you?”
Caught. I backed down the stairs. “Yeah, Pop. It’s me.”
“Well, come on in here. I have someone I want you to meet.”
My stomach clenched in protest as I walked into the living room. My grandfather had his arm draped around a robust, champagne-haired lady with apple cheeks. They were seated on the living room love seat facing the television. Both turned to flash their convertible teeth in my direction.
I forced a cheerful smile and waved. “Hi. I’m Rebecca.”
My grandfather gave the lady’s shoulders a squeeze. “This here is my date, Louise Lagotti. She’s one of Indian Falls’ artists. Runs a craft business out of her house.”
Louise? I could have sworn last night Pop said his date’s name was Marjorie. I stood there awkwardly for a moment as they looked at me with expectant expressions. I asked, “What kind of crafts do you make?”
Louise’s face turned red with pleasure. She gave a cloying little giggle and smiled at Pop. I waited for her to tell me she strung beads for jewelry or crocheted doilies—the usual Indian Falls Senior Center craft projects. Instead she answe
red, “I make scarecrows.”
Maybe the rink music had affected my hearing. “Did you say scarecrows?”
Louise nodded. “I started making them for Halloween, but I liked mine too much to put it away. So I made it an outfit for Christmas. My friends all loved it. They even said I should go into business. So I did, and it’s been wonderful.” Louise gave another giggle, which turned into a loud snort.
Pop patted Louise’s hand. “Isn’t she something, Rebecca?”
She was something, all right. I just wasn’t sure what.
“I’m going to the kitchen to get a drink. Would the two of you like anything?”
Pop and Louise declined, so I left them watching TV and made a beeline for the fridge. I grabbed a soda and a pad of paper and a pen. Balancing everything, I took a seat at the kitchen table and wrote down what I knew about Mack thus far.
Gnawing on the pen, I studied my efforts. There was a picture of a demented cat, a sketch of a smiling camel, and a stick figure of Lionel that didn’t do his body justice. All this told me was that I needed art lessons, not to mention someone who knew Mack and could tell me what he needed all the money for. Drugs? Women? Gambling? In the mortgage world, I’d seen any one of the three doom someone’s credit. One of them could have gotten Mack killed. All I needed was someone to tell me which one it was.
I grabbed my soda and walked back toward the living room. “Hey Pop, do you know—”
My grandfather and Louise stood up from the love seat with guilty expressions and disheveled clothes. Louise’s face was almost purple as she tucked her blouse into her hiked-up skirt.
“Did you want something, Rebecca?” My grandfather sat back down on the couch and patted the seat next to him for Louise, who smoothed her skirt and sank down next to him.
I squelched my scream and squeaked out, “Did Mack have any close friends?”
My grandfather shrugged. “Mack pretty much kept to himself, but he did go to a weekly poker game at Doc Franklin’s house. You should ask him.”