Lionel’s eyes blinked open. “Can’t sleep?” he asked.
“Guess not.”
His mouth curled into a smile, and he pulled me close. “Well, let’s see if we can’t fix that.”
Yowzah. Talk about a sign.
*
The problem with spending the night in a strange bed is that upon waking you have to deal with a strange toothbrush. It didn’t matter that I’d swapped more than saliva with Lionel last night; the thought of using his toothbrush totally wigged me out.
After using my fingers and a wad of toothpaste, I went in search of the sweater I’d worn yesterday. Hmm … the sweater was wrinkled, dotted with red sauce, and ripped at the neckline where it had gotten caught on my watch. Not exactly the fashion statement I was going for. Figuring Lionel wouldn’t mind my borrowing something of his, I slid on a deep purple dress shirt, tied it in a knot at my waist, and went in search of the shirt’s owner.
The note on the table told me he was called away due to a heifer emergency and he would call me later. I felt a flood of both disappointment and relief that the note wasn’t signed with the L-word. Was I screwed up or what?
Pulling on my puffy white coat, I grabbed my purse and ruined sweater and walked to my car. Yesterday, the weatherman had said today was going to be sunny and above freezing. The weatherman lied. Arctic wind howled. Sleet fell from the gray sky. By the time I opened the car door and slid inside, my teeth were chattering. Reminding myself I needed to buy a new pair of gloves, I slid my key into the ignition, cranked the heat, and waited until I could see past my frosty breath in order to drive.
I’d finally stopped shivering by the time I climbed out of my car and strolled across the parking lot of the Toe Stop Roller Rink. Every morning, I checked in with my unofficial rink manager, George. At least twice a week, I asked George to delete the unofficial from the title. For some reason, he was willing to handle most of the rink’s day-to-day operations but refused to accept the moniker or pay raise that went along with it. George was afraid of commitment. I thought back to Lionel’s declaration last night and felt my mind go fuzzy. Yep. George wasn’t the only one with a fear of permanency.
The Phantom of the Opera soundtrack was blaring when I walked through the rink doors. George waved from the middle of the floor as Missy Boys did cross pulls to pick up speed. She approached the far end of the rink and then kicked her free foot forward and leaped off the ground. One and a half rotations in the air later, she landed on two feet before smashing to the ground.
Ouch.
George zipped to where she had fallen, made sure she was okay, and then watched her climb upright before he told her to try it again. Two weeks ago, George had convinced me to set up a big-screen television on the sidelines so everyone could watch the World Roller Figure Skating Championships. Since figure skating wasn’t exactly a national pastime, I figured the rink would be empty. Imagine my surprise when the place was packed. I was even more stunned when George announced he was starting a figure skating club in order to train students to compete at the national level next year. So far, he had two dozen students working toward that goal. Missy was one of them.
Double ouch. Missy skidded face-first across the floor.
I winced, then watched with admiration as she scrambled back onto her wheels and immediately launched herself into the routine again. If all of George’s students had her determination, the skating club would do well when they started competition in the spring. Only time would tell.
The music ended. Missy rolled to the sidelines for water and splinter removal. I waved to her and yelled to George, “Do you need me to handle anything this morning?”
“Not that I can think of.” George executed a perfect T-stop in front of me. “I have three more private lessons before open session this afternoon. Oh, and Kristin Chapman’s mom called to tell us Kristin can’t work this week. Which is understandable, considering.”
I blinked. “Considering what?”
“Considering what happened yesterday?” George frowned. When I didn’t respond, he put his hand on his hip and stared at me harder.
Oh my God!
My cheeks started to burn as I thought about what had happened yesterday and once this morning. Had someone noticed my car at Lionel’s place? Did the entire town know I was sleeping with him? Did Kristin’s mother think I was a bad role model for her daughter?
The urge to stammer and run from the room was strong, kind of like the time my mother caught me and Michael Markson making out behind the snack counter.
When I didn’t say anything, George sighed. “Kristin is Ginny Chapman’s granddaughter. Kristin is going to watch her brothers and sisters while her mother makes the funeral arrangements.”
Oh. My stomach clenched with sympathy. I knew what Kristin’s mother was going through. A year and a half ago, I had to bury my mom. Not a day went by that I didn’t wish for one more moment with her.
“Tell Kristin to take off as much time as she needs. Do you want me to cover her shifts?”
George shook his head. “You can’t catch the Thanksgiving Day thief if you always have to be here. I’ve got it covered.”
I was about to ask how he knew about my investigation of the thefts when the “Wedding March” blared from my cell phone.
The bride-to-be was calling and bubbling with happiness. Or maybe it was hysteria. Sometimes the two were hard to tell apart—especially when the person on the phone was speaking so fast she forgot to breathe.
Before I could ask her to slow down, Danielle said something about her mother-in-law and needing to change the appointment at Annette’s. “Annette only has one time she can see us.”
“Which is when?” I asked, taking advantage of Danielle’s need to gasp oxygen.
“Well … um … now. See you in a few minutes.”
Click.
Oy. Part of me wanted to call Danielle back and tell her I couldn’t make it. After all, I had a life. I had responsibilities. Just because I signed on to wear an ugly dress didn’t mean I had to drop my plans at a moment’s notice. Of course, my righteous indignation would be better served if I actually had any plans to drop. Since my only plan was to question Annette about her unfortunate part in the Thanksgiving thefts, I didn’t have much to complain about.
Yelling to George that I’d be back later, I shoved my hands into my pockets and headed back into the cold.
Shear Highlights was located a couple of blocks away on the north side of town. Annette had opened the place when I was in high school with the money she’d inherited from her great-aunt Alma. Mom had worried about Annette sinking every cent into the place. She’d thought it would be safer for Annette to open something smaller and save money for a rainy day. Annette thanked my mother for her concern and then turned around and bought not only the shop but the entire building. Annette said Aunt Alma would have approved. Since Alma’s final moments involved a deep-sea diving expedition and a cranky shark, I was pretty sure Annette was right. Caution didn’t rate high on Alma’s list. Until I moved back to Indian Falls, I thought being careful rated high on mine. Of course, that was before the dead bodies, the exploding cars, and a sexy vet with incredible hands.
Thinking about those incredible hands was probably what distracted me as I walked into Indian Falls’ only salon. Had I not been remembering the way he made my toes curl, I probably would have noticed the large purple roller before it hit me upside the head.
Five
“Direct hit, and there’s more where that came from, you thief.”
I turned toward the crackly voice and ducked. A large yellow comb sailed over my head and smacked into the wall behind me.
“Hey,” I yelped as a group of senior women glared at me from under three industrial-sized dryers. Too bad my protest was drowned out by a shriek of “Get her!”
Yikes.
Pink and purple foam curlers flew from all directions. A gob of green goo splatted across the front of my puffy white jacket. Then ano
ther. Which is why I did the only thing any self-respecting person could do. I hid.
Diving behind the currently unoccupied receptionist podium, I yelled for everyone to stop. The curlers and combs kept flying. Whoever said aerosol hair spray was dangerous was right. These women had clearly OD’d on the stuff.
“Stop. Stop. Stop,” a sweet but firm voice demanded. “Violet—put down that brush this instant. You could hurt someone with it. What do you think you’re doing?”
Now that the primping projectiles had halted, I braved a glance around the podium. Tiny Ethel Jacabowski stood in the center aisle, wagging a finger at her fellow salon customers. At least, I thought it was Ethel. The silver foil sticking out of her hair and the black smock around her neck made her look more like Frankenstein’s grandmother than the woman I’d talked with yesterday.
A woman I assumed must be Violet put down a silver roller brush and frowned. “Nan said Rebecca was the Thanksgiving Day thief and we should all call the cops.”
“I never said that.” Nan ducked out from under a dryer and shook her curler-coated head. “You shouldn’t eavesdrop on other people’s conversations, Vi, especially when you’re under the dryer with your hearing aid turned off. I was telling Ethel that Rebecca was going to catch the Thanksgiving Day thief and beat the cops.” Nan gave me a small smile. “Sorry about the misunderstanding, dear. I hope you won’t tell your grandfather.”
Nan was one of Pop’s admirers. She’d even taken up roller skating in order to snag him. A choice the rink’s bank account appreciated even if my grandfather had failed to notice.
“I won’t tell Pop,” I assured her. I was about to ask her about her theft when I noticed the foam curlers in her hand. “But if you knew I wasn’t the thief, why were you throwing things at me?”
“I thought this was a new wedding tradition like throwing rice. I didn’t want to be left out.”
I was about to point out that this wasn’t a church and I wasn’t the bride when Annette came hurrying out of the back of the salon. “What’s going on out here? What happened to Michelle?”
Michelle was Annette’s newest hire. From the look in my godmother’s eyes, I was guessing the HELP WANTED sign wouldn’t be collecting dust for long.
“Michelle needed a smoke.” Ethel took a seat in one of the red vinyl chairs and picked up an issue of Cosmo. “We told her we’d hold down the fort until she got back.”
The bell on the door jingled, and the girl in question walked in. She took one look at Annette’s face, glanced down at the curler-laden floor, and went racing for a broom. My assailants shrugged and went back to whatever they’d been doing before I walked through the door.
When Michelle returned with cleaning supplies and a contrite expression, Annette sighed and motioned for me to follow her down the salon’s center aisle. “I’m sorry about your jacket. I should have known better than to leave Michelle alone with that group, but Danielle was so upset, I had to take her into the back to calm her down. Give me your coat. I’ll run it over to the dry cleaners while you talk to Danielle. She’s through there.”
I handed the jacket to Annette, who gave me a firm shove into the back room before bolting toward the front of the salon. Sitting at a small table was the not-so-blushing bride-to-be. In her hands was a wadded-up tissue. Her hair was tangled, and her feet were sporting zebra-striped stilettos. Uh-oh.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, sliding into the metal folding chair across from her.
Danielle looked at me with puffy eyes and a bright, albeit deranged, smile. “Wrong? Why do you think something’s wrong?”
I pointed to her shoes, and Danielle’s shoulders slumped as the shell of bravado disappeared. “This wedding is cursed.”
“Just because someone died in the building where you were having your wedding shower doesn’t mean your wedding is cursed.” At least I hoped not. The only thing I knew about curses involved voodoo dolls made out of Popsicle sticks.
“You’re right, but losing a bridesmaid a week and a half before the wedding does.”
“A bridesmaid died?” Yikes. While I didn’t believe in curses, I was tempted to take several steps back. Death wasn’t all that high on my bucket list.
“I wish.” Danielle sniffled. “Rich’s second cousin Sherilyn decided not to come to the wedding. She moved to Tibet in a quest for peace and harmony.” The sniffle turned into a snarl. “Harmony couldn’t have waited until after she’d worn her dress and walked down the aisle?”
I’d seen the dresses. As far as I was concerned, Sherilyn had made a good choice. Unfortunately, unless I wanted to move to Tibet, the only way I was going to find peace was to help Danielle with her crisis. “Just get married with one less bridesmaid.”
Problem solved.
Or not.
Tears filled Danielle’s big brown eyes, and her lip started to tremble. “I can’t. Rich’s mother said her family has always believed that a wedding must have an even number of attendants or risk inviting evil spirits into the marriage.”
“So make one of the groomsmen an usher.”
“Rich’s mother says I’d cause irreparable damage to the family if I demoted one of Rich’s cousins.”
Rich’s mother was starting to annoy me.
“Then ask someone else.”
“Who?” A lone tear streaked down Danielle’s face. “Most of my former friends are … dancers. I can’t ask them. Not unless I want the church ladies to lynch me. Besides, they would never fit into Sherilyn’s dress. I called Tilly at the dress shop, and she said she doesn’t have time to do major alterations. So unless we can find an almost-six-foot-tall, large-chested woman who doesn’t mind being second choice, my marriage is doomed.”
“What about Erica the Red?”
Danielle looked up at me with horror. Or maybe it was hope. The suggestion to invite a Roller Derby girl with a penchant for tattoos into a Lutheran minister’s wedding party could evoke either reaction. Now that I’d suggested it, I kind of liked the idea.
Aside from me, the other members of the wedding party had all been selected in an effort to please Rich’s mother. Which meant they didn’t know or didn’t like Danielle—something they’d made very clear at the bridal shower they’d thrown a couple weeks ago. However, Erica and the rest of the EstroGenocide team were actually people Danielle hung out with. To top it off, not only would Erica fulfill the dress requirements, but she could body-check Rich’s mother if the woman came up with any more doom-and-gloom predictions. Was I maid of honor of the year or what?
Before Danielle could think about what her mother-in-law would say, I pulled out my phone and dialed. Erica picked up on the first ring. “Hey, Coach.”
I sighed. “I’m not your coach.” At the moment, that job belonged to a very enthusiastic George.
“No.” Erica laughed. “But ‘rink owner’ doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue during team announcements. So Typhoon Mary decided we should call you Coach. Of course, if you pick a derby name, we can skip the whole coach thing.”
Much to my dismay, I had attempted to come up with a derby name only to find that all the names I liked were already taken by real derby girls. Since I wasn’t skating on the team, I’d given up on finding a name—something I’d have to readdress when I had hours to scour the Roller Derby Name Registry. For the sake of Danielle’s wedding and my Thanksgiving investigation, I was just going to have to settle for Coach.
“One of Danielle’s bridesmaids bailed on the wedding. Can you fill in?”
“Hell yeah.” Erica let out a booming laugh. “Do I get to bring a date?”
“Bring whomever you’d like.” If Danielle didn’t want to pay for the extra seating, I would. How much could the caterers charge for a plate of cardboard-flavored chicken?
“Awesome. Tell me what you need me to do and I’ll do it.”
Since Danielle still looked torn between joy and dismay, I instructed Erica to meet us at Nothing Borrowed Nothing Blue later in the day to try on th
e dress. I hung up as Annette blew threw the door.
“Your coat will be ready by the time we’re done picking hairstyles. They’re going to bring it over.” Annette put on her smock and smiled. “Are we ready to get to work?”
We both turned to Danielle. She closed her eyes and took several deep, long breaths. A tear leaked down her cheek, and guilt churned my stomach.
Eek! Maybe I’d gotten a little too carried away with fixing Danielle’s problem. I wanted to help make Danielle’s wedding better, not ruin the entire thing. Weddings were important. Just because I wasn’t sure I ever wanted to have one of my own didn’t mean I didn’t understand that. I had to fix this. Now.
“I can call Erica back and tell her I made a mistake,” I said, pulling my phone out of my pocket. “I’ll tell her I misunderstood.”
Danielle’s eyes snapped open, and she snatched the phone out of my hand before my finger could press SEND. “Don’t you dare! I’m crying because I’m relieved—and the best part is I can honestly tell Rich’s mother I had nothing to do with inviting Erica. You are the best maid of honor.”
Two hours later, I was ready to ditch my title. My hair had been washed, set, curled, pinned, sprayed, and pulled so tight my eyes looked as if I’d just had Botox. My hair wasn’t merely teased, it was seriously pissed off. Worse, Danielle hadn’t liked a single style Annette had tried. The upside was, if Danielle kept this up, I wouldn’t have enough hair left to style and we could all go home.
Sitting at the back of the salon, trying to ignore the looks coming from the clients up front, I decided to concentrate on my other problem—tracking down a thief. “Annette, I had no idea you had your house robbed five years ago. Mom never mentioned it.”
Annette poked me with a bobby pin and sighed. “Probably because whoever the thief was didn’t take much. That’s why I thought it was my two-timing ex, Keith Brennan. He was pissed I’d broken up with him after I caught him fogging up the windows of Valerie Parra’s Ford Escort. The man had the nerve to say my work schedule made him feel neglected.”