Sixteen

Damn!

“Are you sure?” I asked, though I could see a key was missing from Pop’s rabbit’s foot ring. Pop had three keys: home, car, and rink. Today there were only two. Subtraction sucks.

Pop looked stunned. “I don’t know what could have happened. The key was here yesterday afternoon. It’s not like I leave them lying around all over the place. I keep them in my pocket.”

These days, Pop’s pockets were so tight, lint had trouble getting in. Stealing keys out of his pocket would take serious elbow grease.

“Could you have left them on a table at the center last night? It would’ve taken only a few seconds for someone to slip the key off and put the ring back.”

Pop shook his head back and forth. “Didn’t happen at the center. I know better than that. Too many fans hanging around. If you leave your keys out, you never know who might end up naked in your trunk. I learned my lesson the first time.”

I opened my mouth to ask and decided I was happier not knowing.

“I guess it could have been at the diner. Mary Ellen asked me to serenade her mother, and I left my keys on the counter for a few minutes. Wait. I know!” Pop snapped his fingers. “Your father was moping around after you turned him away empty-handed. I bet he took the key when I wasn’t looking. No wonder he didn’t stay here last night. Rebecca, I hate to say this, but your father is a skunk.”

Pop was right not only about my father’s character but about the possibility of his being the key thief. Stan was more than capable of lifting Pop’s rink key without Pop being any the wiser. Stan’s need for quick cash was a strong motive for breaking into the rink. Only, the lockbox with today’s bank deposit hadn’t been touched. Weird.

“I’ll go find Stan and ask him,” I said with a sigh.

“I’m going with you.” Pop shifted his weight from foot to foot like a prizefighter ready to do battle. “It was my key. I’ve earned the right to pummel him.”

“Let me talk to him first,” I said. “If he sees you clenching your fist, he might make a run for it.”

Pop thought about that for a minute and nodded. “You’re right. We don’t want to scare him off before he confesses to the crime. Once he does, I’ll come in and cuff him. I should probably get a pair of handcuffs before then.”

I left Pop browsing the Yellow Pages for police supply stores. Waving good-bye to the band, I steered my Civic toward Doreen’s retirement apartment to search for my father.

Doreen’s door loomed in front of me. Somewhere on the other side, my father and Doreen were doing something I didn’t want to imagine. I figured I could wait to talk to my dad another time, except I couldn’t. I’d put off a confrontation yesterday, and look what had happened.

My first attempt at knocking was barely audible. Nerves. I raised my hand and rapped louder.

“One minute,” Doreen’s voice sang from behind the door. True to her word, less than a minute later, the door swung open. Doreen stood in the doorway wearing a purple lace negligee and a black-and-purple robe. She squinted at me. Doreen was not wearing her trademark glasses. Apparently, they didn’t go with the ensemble. “Rebecca? Did we have an appointment?”

“No appointment.” The light behind Doreen made her outfit almost see-through. Help. “I’m looking for my father. Is he here?”

Doreen’s eyebrows knit together, and her voice went up an octave. “Uh, no. I haven’t seen your father since yesterday afternoon. He came by the office for a chat and asked me to meet him for dinner at the diner.”

“Doreen, darling,” a deep male voice bellowed from inside the apartment. “Where’s my Realtor? I’m waiting to close the deal.”

Doreen’s cheeks turned bright red. “I waited at the diner for an hour, but Stan never showed. He stood me up. And, well, I met someone else, and nature took its course. I’ll call you later today about the key and the closing.”

Doreen ducked behind the door and slammed it shut.

Ugh! I wished she hadn’t said the word closing. Not after hearing her friend inside. Well, I might not have known where Stan was, but I knew Doreen wasn’t holding him in escrow. That was something.

I stopped by the rink to make sure everyone was in one piece. George was busy teaching classes, the pasty look of fear replaced by the rosy tint of exercise. Max was in the office, booking a birthday party. He hung up and gave me a copy of the incident report. He had shed the suit coat but still looked like he was dressed for a funeral. I filled him in on the missing key and he patted me on the back and told me everything was going to be all right. The kid was okay.

Leaving Max looking concerned but in control, I waited on the sidelines of the rink for George to finish his class. He skated over, executed a perfect T-stop, and grabbed a towel. I gave him the same story I’d given Max. George flashed me a triumphant smile while his body quivered with the need to jump up and down and say “I told you so.” To his credit, his feet never left the floor. Probably because the skates were weighing him down.

George’s next class arrived, and he raced back onto the floor with a giddy smile. I didn’t share his sense of glee. Some unknown person had a key to my rink. Pulling out my cell, I dialed Zack and asked for a locksmith referral. Five minutes later, I’d arranged for the guy to come by and change the locks after lunch.

Leaving George and Max in charge, I headed back out into the heat. There was nothing more I could do about the key issue until my father surfaced. Sad but true. Time to take a trip to the firehouse and see if anyone had Guilty Pyromaniac written across his face.

Cruising Main Street, I kept my eyes peeled for signs of Dad or the scary Spanish duo. Nada.

I pulled into the firehouse’s parking lot and got out of the car. Middle-aged muscleman Chuck Culver was standing outside in his navy blue firefighter’s uniform, having a smoke. There was something ironic about a smoker having a job that involved putting out fires. Especially around here. Aside from Jimmy’s car explosion and Pop’s blazing scarecrow, most of the calls to the firehouse involved someone at home smoking in bed.

Still, I was happy to see Chuck. He’d taken twenty dollars from me at Lionel’s last poker game. I figured my losing cash to him would grease the information wheels.

I figured wrong. Chuck took one look at me, raked the hand not holding a cigarette through his shortly cropped dark hair, and frowned. Chuck was not happy to see me. Either rookie Robbie had told him about my last visit or Lionel had called. I was betting on the latter. Lionel and I were definitely going to have a chat.

Giving Chuck a big “I don’t want anything from you” smile, I crossed the asphalt. Chuck didn’t smile back. He flicked his cigarette butt and crossed his arms over his chest.

“You should put the cigarette out with water,” I said. “Then again, I guess if you start a fire, you have everything you need to put it out.”

Okay, this was probably more confrontational than necessary, but I couldn’t help it. Throwing lit cigarette butts around was never a good idea, firefighter or not.

Chuck didn’t look amused. “Lionel said you might come by.”

Since Lionel had already blown my cover, I just nodded. “I thought it was strange the hay field didn’t catch fire along with Jimmy Bakersfield’s car. Lionel thought you guys might have some idea why.”

“Or maybe you started thinking that one of my firefighters started the fire. Right?” Chuck glowered at me. Every muscle that I could see sticking out of his clothes bulged with not quite suppressed anger. On a normal day, I would have appreciated his body like a connoisseur appreciates a fine wine. Today, his muscles were no longer sighworthy. They were scary.

“Look,” I said, resisting the urge to take a tiny step back. “Lionel and I find it hard to believe any of your guys would set fire to a car. But someone knew enough to keep the fire from spreading. If I put two and two together, Sean Holmes is going to.” Chuck’s muscles relaxed a tiny bit, so I pressed my case. “I need to figure out how the bad guy kept the fire contained, then nail him before Sean arrests your entire department. Sean tends to ask questions after he puts people behind bars.”

Chuck thought about that for a minute. Finally, he unfolded his arms.

Now that Chuck was more receptive, I asked, “What kind of fire retardant did the fireworks guys use? Would it work on hay?”

Chuck looked up at the sky and put his hands behind his head—a modern version of Rodin’s The Thinker. “They used something called Safety Zone. They had gallons of it. Used to be harder to get your hands on the stuff, but the Internet has made it easy. Stuff worked like a charm. A couple fireworks exploded on the ground and we didn’t need our hoses.”

If Chuck was right, anyone could get their hands on the right kind of fire retardant. Which meant anyone paying attention to the fireworks setup was a suspect. My suspect list was getting longer instead of shorter.

Chuck walked into the firehouse and returned a minute later with a jug. “After I talked to Lionel this morning, I went back to the scene and found this in the field opposite. I thought about giving it to Sean, but I figured he’d use it to point the finger at one of my guys.”

He handed me the plastic jug, which had a black-and-red sticker that read SAFETY ZONE. The fact that the IFFD guys were all familiar with this specific retardant pointed the finger squarely inside the firehouse. I understood why Chuck was nervous.

“I get that you’re friends with the other fighters, so you want to protect them,” I said. “But how can you be so sure they didn’t start the fire?”

Chuck jammed his hands into his pants pockets. “There are only six of us, so we’re pretty easy to keep track of. Three of the guys were here at the firehouse eating Chinese food. I got a receipt that even says what time it was delivered. Robbie’s date canceled, so he was watching Titanic with his parents. And Kevin and I were at my house, watching the game, when the fire was called in. Everyone has an alibi.”

I was confused. “Why not tell Sean and move on?”

“Can’t.”

Pithy but not helpful. “Why? Tell Sean about the alibis and give him the fire retardant. You’ll help save the day.”

“And ruin Kevin’s marriage. He told his wife he had to work, so he didn’t have to visit his in-laws in Iowa. This is the fourth time he’s skipped making the trip, and his wife is getting angry. If she finds out he was drinking beer instead of eating her mother’s borscht, she’ll kick him to the curb.”

For Kevin’s sake, I promised to keep quiet about the alibis and the fire retardant for as long as I could. If someone was going to make me eat borscht, I’d lie, too.

I hit the rink in time for a grateful Max to go find lunch. I guess snack-bar food wasn’t his idea of a balanced meal. Some days, I would have agreed. Not today, though. I grabbed a big salt-covered pretzel and a cup of melted yellow cheese. Thus fortified, I went back to my office to check e-mail and review the stuff my trainee had been in charge of this morning. While the business wasn’t the driving force in my life, I wasn’t about to let Max run it into the ground.

According to the records, Max had booked a couple of parties and done some lesson scheduling. He’d misquoted the price for one of the parties, but it was in my favor, so I couldn’t really complain. The customer would be thrilled when I called and gave her a lower price. I’d be a hero. Gotta love that.

A half hour later, the rink’s paperwork was complete. Logging on to my e-mail account, I munched on a pretzel and smiled. My best friend and former Chicago roomie, Jasmine, had sent me a long dissertation on her life. Apparently, it sucked. I wasn’t sure it really did. Jasmine knew how badly I wanted to get back to the bright lights and pollution-filled air of Chicago. She might be overstating her unhappiness so I wouldn’t feel jealous. She’d been doing that kind of thing since I’d come back here and gotten stuck.

I typed a long e-mail to Jasmine, instructing her to get off the ledge. If things were bad on her end, I told her, she could come join me. Jasmine was a city girl through and through. The mere thought of joining me in the middle of farm country would act like shock treatment and force her to be happy. Was I a good friend or what?

Hitting Send, I finished off my pretzel and contemplated my next move in the car-fire investigation. Safety Zone had a Web site, and the stuff was cheap and easy to order. Anyone could do it. I picked up the phone and dialed the customer-service number listed on the screen. The woman’s voice was perky and very friendly. The tone got even friendlier when she refused to tell me if someone in Indian Falls had purchased the stuff. I hung up, trying to decide if I was frustrated or impressed with Safety Zone’s staff. Probably both.

The problem was, I didn’t have any other leads to help me ferret out who had started the fire. Nor did I have any new ideas on the death-threat front. I figured Sean had been busy checking out hotels. If everything had gone as planned, he would have the guys in a cell by now. Maybe I should check that out, I thought. Knowing they were off the streets would do wonders for my blood pressure.

“Rebecca.”

I spun around when I heard the voice coming from the doorway.

Holy crap. I sucked in some air.

Danielle was wearing a pair of short red shorts that barely covered the bottoms of her butt cheeks. The top of her was in a white lacy corset-looking shirt that displayed a lot of ample chest. The whole look was capped off by white four-inch strappy sandals. Danielle no longer looked like the girlfriend of mild-mannered Pastor Rich.

She gave me an uncertain smile. “Too much?”

Danielle sat down in the chair and let out a squeak. Her short shorts had no doubt ridden high into her butt crack.

Danielle pushed a lock of her dark hair out of her eyes. “I don’t know what to do. This is the first time I’ve dated anyone who won’t make a move on me. I’m getting desperate.”

“Do you love Rich?” I asked. Pastor Rich was the epitome of respectability and moral living—everything Danielle had come to Indian Falls for. But was she in love with him? I wasn’t sure.

Danielle bit her bottom lip. “I think I do, but this relationship is so different. All my other boyfriends had me on my back after the first couple dates. I loved feeling close to them, but after a while, the whole thing fizzled. With Rich, we don’t make out or do anything improper. So I can’t tell if we have any chemistry. Can you be in love without having sex?”

I wasn’t the queen of healthy relationships. My relationship with Lionel had a lot of problems, mostly mine. Still, I was pretty sure I knew the answer to this one.

“Do you enjoy talking to him and spending time with him?”

She nodded. The sadness in her eyes made me believe that she felt a lot more than just enjoyment when she was with him. Danielle had it bad.

“Then, yes, you can love someone you haven’t slept with. What you need to do is change clothes and then talk to Rich. Tell him you think he isn’t attracted to you. See what he does. I bet you’ll be surprised.” Move over, Dr. Phil.

Danielle chewed the bottom of her lip some more. “Do I have to? I’m not like you. Talking about my feelings isn’t my strong suit.”

If I was better at talking about relationships than she was, we were in serious trouble.

“Well,” I said with a laugh, “the guy with the great ass from the drugstore is nice. I’m not investigating him anymore. I guess you could always flirt with him and see if Rich gets jealous.”

I was joking. Only Danielle’s pursed lips told me she was considering the option. This was bad.

“Look, I really think talking to Rich is the best plan. Honesty will help you build a lasting relationship.” Clearly, I was better at giving advice than following it.

Danielle stood up and gave me a high-wattage smile. “Thanks for the help. Do you mind if I change back into my other clothes in here? Everyone was at lunch when I arrived, but it sounds busy out there now. I wouldn’t want to give anyone the wrong idea.” Her tone had taken on the singsong quality of a Stepford wife. It was scary.

“Of course. But I don’t think I helped.”

She closed the office door and pulled a pair of tan Capri pants from her bag. “You did. These clothes aren’t the answer. I think I know what is.”

She shrugged a purple T-shirt over the bustier. In the new ensemble, she looked like a housewife ready to do battle with the grocery store. “I’ve got to go. Thanks for the help, Rebecca. And call me if you need someone to stay with you. Sleeping upstairs after a death threat and a break-in can’t be easy.” With that, she walked out the door.

Danielle’s skimpy outfit had momentarily shocked me into forgetting about my current predicament. I had enjoyed the momentary break from indigestion. Now it was back.

Car thefts, fire retardants, scary men, death threats, and a missing rink key. No matter how I tried, the pieces wouldn’t fit together in a way that made sense.

Restless, I checked the clock. One-thirty. The locksmith should be here. I grabbed my purse and headed into the rink.

Sure enough, my locksmith, Ollie Black, was hitching up his overalls and starting work on the door. My supervision wasn’t exactly needed, but I was grateful for the excuse to get out of the office. I stayed out front with Ollie and watched the small balding spot in the middle of his ashy hair turn bright red under the heat of the sun. It’s the small things.

When Ollie was done, he gave me a set of six new keys for the door. I, in turn, gave him a check. Money well spent, since otherwise I knew I wouldn’t sleep. I slipped the old key off my key ring and replaced it with the shiny new one.

Ollie strolled off with his toolbox in hand, and I went inside to find George. He was guzzling water from a bottle near the entrance. I gave him three of the keys: one for him and the others for my two most responsible high school employees.

“What about my key?” Max pouted as he approached. Between the heat outside and the physical activity involved in the day-to-day running of the rink, Max’s suit was looking a little less than fresh. “I can stop by at night and make sure the rink really is locked. We don’t want any more mistakes.”

George started to lunge. I grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled. The whole scene reminded me of something out of Looney Toons. Wile E. Coyote goes after the Road Runner, but something holds him back. He’s suddenly running in place and the Road Runner gets away. Only in this case, the Road Runner was standing there taunting Wile E. with a smug smile. The cartoon version of the Road Runner was way smarter than my manager, Max.

I gave George’s sweaty T-shirt a hard yank, which sent him stumbling two steps backward, and said, “You can have a key after you finish your probation period on Monday.”

I could tell Max was tempted to stick his tongue out at George, but he restrained himself and said, “Makes sense to me. Oh, I left a couple of DVDs on your desk for you to look at when you have a minute. I hope you enjoy them.”

And with that, he strolled off toward the rental counter. After taking three deep breaths, George gave me half a smile, blew his whistle, and skated off. The Toe Stop all-skate session had begun.

With George and Max separated and occupied, I went to perform key-delivery service. First stop: the retirement home. I found Doreen in her apartment, fully clothed and with no men in sight.

She took the key and said, “We need to be careful nothing like this happens again. The buyers don’t live in town and don’t understand how Indian Falls works. One more incident and I’m certain they’ll pull out of the deal.”

Something else to worry about.

I assured Doreen that the rink was in perfect condition and nothing else would spook the buyers. Of course, while saying this, I kept my fingers crossed behind my back. I had no idea if anything else would happen and had no control over stopping it if it did. Scary, but true.

At Pop’s house, all evidence of the band had cleared away and my grandfather’s car was parked in the garage. I walked into the house and almost ran smack into Pop as he headed out.

“Sorry, Rebecca. I can’t talk long. I have to do my Elvis Serenade act for Eleanor’s birthday party. Her friends thought I’d be more fun than watching Alex Trebek on Jeopardy. Eleanor has a thing for Alex, so I’m not so sure.”

It wasn’t until he mentioned his Elvis act that I noticed his clothes: a black-and-silver studded jumpsuit unzipped down to his navel and a black pompadour wig. When a seventy-six-year-old guy in an Elvis getup looks completely normal, you know it’s time to reevaluate your life.

I pulled out one of the new keys and handed it to Pop. “That’s okay. I was just dropping off your new key.”

Pop took it with a frown. “Your father hasn’t been back to the house today. I’ll bet my false teeth he took the other key.” He put the key on his rabbit’s foot key chain and shoved it down deep into his pants. The bulge it created made me grimace.

I shrugged. “If he did, I can’t figure out why. None of the rink’s money was taken.” Figuring out my father would take a team of well-trained therapists years. I’d had only a few days.

“Well, let me know if you find him. I’ve got a pair of cuffs with his name on it.”

“Sure thing.”

Pop and I walked out, got in our respective cars, and headed toward town. When I started to turn left on Main Street, Pop honked his horn and gave me a jaunty salute as he drove off to his big gig.

I cruised up and down the downtown streets, looking for signs of my father.

Nothing.

Feeling brave, or at last moderately bored, I cruised up to the highway and did drive-bys of the hotels. No big Spanish dudes in sight. And the clerks still weren’t talking. In fact, one guy glared at me and told me the cops had been by. From the angry balling of the clerk’s fists, I assumed Sean had made his usual good impression.

I staked out the last hotel for a while with the hope my karma would improve and the big guys would come walking through the door. Two hours later, my armpits were sweaty and my butt had fallen asleep. I decided to end my first attempt at surveillance. Next time, I’d bring a book, a large icy soda, and a big bag of popcorn.

The sky was darkening as I turned off the highway and pointed my Civic back toward Indian Falls. I was feeling a little bummed. I hadn’t found the bad guys. Worse, Sean hadn’t found them. That meant they were still out there, waiting to make good on their threat. I needed a lead.

A loud crash of thunder made me swerve my car slightly onto the shoulder. I looked up at the sky. No rain clouds in sight. Another thunderclap rocked the air.

I knew that sound.

My head spun around and I surveyed the surrounding fields.

There.

In the distance, a bright burst of light lit up the blackening sky.

Fire. And I was pretty sure it was my father’s car I was watching burn.