Verse and Vengeance Page 4

  I couldn’t hold back the chuckle bubbling in the back of my throat. “Laugh? I would never laugh at my grandmother.”

  She snorted. “I don’t believe you for a minute. You’ve laughed at me plenty of times.”

  “Because you’re so funny.” I smiled sweetly.

  She grunted and climbed into her royal golf cart. “You’re just jealous of my new wheels. You wipe that smug expression off your face or I won’t let you take it for a spin of your own.”

  “Was the title painted on the hood Charles’s idea or yours?”

  “It doesn’t matter whose idea that was.” She tossed the end of her scarf over her shoulder.

  Her response was all the answer I needed.

  “The golf cart needs to be quickly recognizable to anyone in the village as an official vehicle. You know golf carts aren’t generally allowed on our streets.”

  “But mayors can have them?” I asked.

  She grinned. “There is privilege at the top.”

  I didn’t doubt that in the least.

  I rolled my bike alongside her and straddled it. “Grandma, does your golf cart have a leather interior?”

  She grinned. “And Bluetooth!” With that, she gunned the engine and took off. I had to pedal double time to catch up with her.

  Fifteen minutes later, I rode off the course through the residential streets of the village in what felt like a parade in my grandmother’s honor, as I was one bike length behind her new wheels. It was clear Grandma Daisy felt the same, because she returned the royal wave to all her subjects. I wasn’t enthused when she took her hand off the wheel. However, much to my surprise, my grandmother seemed to have a better handle on maneuvering the golf cart than I’d expected she would.

  Thankfully, it was a quick trip, as we took a shortcut through back roads to the finish line. My legs were little better than Jell-O after riding twenty-five miles.

  The finish line sat in front of the village hall. I could hear the roar of the spectators as we merged onto River Road and rejoined the pack of riders. With my bike, I blended in well. Grandma Daisy was another story. She continued her mayoral wave as she turned on the street, not taking care to watch out for the dozens of riders that she almost sideswiped with the cart.

  Grandma Daisy parked the golf cart on the sidewalk in front of the village hall, and Cameron Connell was waiting for her. Cameron was a member-at-large of the village council and the most outspoken member in the group of seven. He was a realtor and investment banker in his forties who dreamed that Cascade Springs was a quiet, boring town. That dream would never do as long as Grandma Daisy was mayor. Quiet and boring weren’t her style. Not surprisingly, Cameron was adamantly against the new museum, so he and my grandmother were at odds much of the time.

  I hopped off my bike and walked it over to where the pair stood, just in case my grandmother needed backup.

  “Daisy!” Cameron cried. “We have to have an emergency council meeting. I have taken the liberty to gather what members I could. I couldn’t find Logan Duffy. He appears to be shirking his duties again. We might have to think about ways to get him off the council. A resignation would be the least messy option.”

  My grandmother turned to me. “Violet, you will have to excuse me, my dear. Duty calls.” She straightened her shoulders and walked up the steps to the formidable building with its two- feet-thick stone walls, clock tower, and domed roof. The hall was beautiful but far too large to govern a village as tiny as Cascade Springs. My grandmother was right. It would have made a wonderful museum if this latest turn of events hadn’t ruined its chances.

  Riders fresh from the race and visitors walked around me on the sidewalk as I stared after my grandmother. I wondered how there could possibly be another murder in our quaint little village. In a place like this, the worst I would have expected would be a rash of jaywalking, not a rash of murder.

  “Violet, Violet!” My friend Lacey Dupont waved from the café, Le Crepe Jolie, that she and her husband, Adrien, ran. Lacey, Adrien, and their waitress, Danielle Cloud, stood outside the café handing out free crepes and other French goodies to the riders as they came in.

  I walked my bike over to her and parked it on the side of the café.

  She beamed at me. “You made it!” She put a fresh cheese crepe in my hand, and Adrien was soon at her side and put a bottle of water in my other hand. They really were the best people to meet at the end of a bike race.

  I drank the entire bottle of water and wiped my mouth before speaking. “Not quite. I only rode twenty-five miles.”

  “What happened?” Lacey looked around. “Where’s David? Is he okay? I expected the two of you to come in together.”

  “He’s fine, but he’s not going to be coming to the finish line anytime soon.” I leaned in close and whispered to Adrien and Lacey what had happened at the bottom of Breakneck Hill.

  Lacey gasped. “That’s the same terrible investigator who thought I killed my sister earlier this year!”

  Danielle’s head snapped in our direction.

  “Shh!” I scanned the area around us and saw a piece of crepe fall from a nearby rider’s mouth at Lacey’s outburst.

  I smiled at me. “She’s joking.”

  “He got what he deserved,” Adrien said in a dark voice.

  “He’s joking too. Aren’t they hilarious?” I asked the man with the crepe, who edged away from us.

  Lacey’s eyes went wide at her husband. “How can you even say such a thing? True, he wasn’t a nice man, but I could never wish any ill on him or anyone.”

  Adrien touched her cheek with his large, callused hand. “And this is why I love you, ma chère. You are pure of heart. I will do the hating for the both of us. What are you going to do, Violet?”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Well.” Lacey lowered her voice. “Are you going to find out what happened to Redding?”

  “Rainwater won’t like it.”

  “That doesn’t mean you won’t do it,” Lacey said in a knowing voice.

  “Why was he in the race?” Adrien asked.

  “That’s probably the biggest question. He rode and had a racing bike, but he wasn’t dressed to ride. He was wearing casual business attire, not spandex,” I said.

  Lacey’s mouth fell open. “You saw the body?”

  I nodded.

  Adrien tilted his head. “That doesn’t sound to me like he planned to be in the race.”

  “That was my thought,” I said, and not for the first time, I wondered why Redding had even been in the race. Did it have to do with me? As Rainwater noted, the private eye had been taking photos of me, and I couldn’t forget the copy of Leaves of Grass with the body. The book the shop’s essence had revealed to me the night before the race.

  “And you will want to talk to Bobby,” Lacey said. “If Redding registered, he will be on Bobby’s list.”

  I nodded. “The bike he was riding was from Bobby’s shop.”

  “That makes sense,” Adrien said. “There’s nowhere else to rent a bike at the last minute in the village. He should be at the registration table. You can’t miss him.”

  I knew that was true. Very few people missed Bobby.

  Chapter Seven

  Across from the village hall and the café was the Riverwalk; it was a three-mile-long path that followed the Niagara River in and out of Cascade Springs. It was the largest piece of green space in the downtown area and the location for all the festivals, celebrations, and events.

  At the moment, the long stretch of green was dotted with race spectators, tired riders, and dozens of booths that catered to both groups. Even so, Bobby Holmes of Bobby’s Bike Shop wasn’t hard to find. He wore his ever-present Atlanta Braves ball cap. Bobby, an Atlanta transplant, frequently wore the colors of his favorite team proudly, and he spoke so fondly of his old life in the warm South that it made me wonder how he had ended up in Cascade Springs, which was under snow a minimum of four months of the year. That was a low estimate.


  Not to say that the village wasn’t a good locale for a bike shop. Bicycles were a popular form of transportation in Cascade Springs, which was a small village with only a few thousand year-round residents. In the summer months and then again in January, during ice wine season, our tiny village was inundated with people from all over the globe. Bikes were the best and quickest way to travel through the narrow nineteenth-century streets congested with white carriages, cars, and pedestrians. On two wheels, a rider could swerve in and around the bewildered tourists or avoid them altogether by taking the many bike paths that cut through the village park that stood behind Charming Books and led to the famous springs.

  Bobby tipped his Braves hat at me. “Violet, good to see you. How did that old cruiser bike work for you on the race? Usually those types of wheels aren’t built for these sorts of things. I can show you a sleeker and faster model that would serve you better in your next race.”

  I laughed. “This was my one and only race, and I did it more for Rainwater than myself. I much prefer tooling around the village at my own pace. My old bike is perfect for that.”

  He nodded. “You can’t fault a man for trying. You may change your mind someday. I’m always there when you want to upgrade.”

  I laughed, not surprised that Bobby’s shop did so well. He was the affable salesman.

  “If you’re not here for a new bike, is there something else I can do for you?” he asked.

  “Actually there is. Could I take a peek at the race registration list?”

  He arched his brow. “I’m not sure I can do that. You’re not on the committee. You’re a competitor.”

  In my case, competitor was used loosely. Even if I had finished the entire race, I hadn’t been a threat to take home any medals. “It’s for my grandmother, actually. She got caught up in a village council meeting and would like me to check the registration list.”

  Bobby got an odd look on his face. “If Daisy can’t trust me to manage the race …”

  “Oh, it’s nothing like that.” I waved my hands. “Grandma Daisy was so very happy when you volunteered to manage the race. It was quite an undertaking on very short notice. You’ve done a wonderful job.”

  His chest puffed out just a little at my compliment. “Thank you. That’s very nice to hear.”

  He walked over to the race check-in table, which was no longer manned by volunteers, since the race was all but over. The leaders had rolled across the finish line well over two hours ago, and the stragglers were coming in now. Flyers and pamphlets were strewn across the table, and a laptop computer sat in the middle of the mess.

  He opened his laptop and tapped on the keys. “Let me see. We have over six hundred people riding today. Your grandmother did an excellent job of getting the word out.”

  I smiled. Grandma Daisy was a good salesperson too.

  “Do you really want to look at all these names?”

  I wrinkled my nose. I didn’t. “Not really.”

  “Is there anyone in particular your grandmother wants you to find? I can do a quick search of the spreadsheet to find a particular name.” He said grandmother like that detail of my story was suspect. I would have to tell Grandma Daisy the fib I made up so she would go along with it should Bobby ask. I knew she would. She loved a good “undercover op,” as she called them.

  “Joel Redding,” I said.

  “Redding, Redding, Redding,” Bobby muttered to himself.

  I peered over his shoulder for a peek at the spreadsheet listing all the riders’ names in alphabetical order. Bobby went through the Rs twice, and neither of us spotted Redding. Just to be safe, I suggested he use the find feature on the spreadsheet for Redding and then for Joel. Neither came up. It was surprising that of all those racers, there was not a single Joel in the bunch.

  I stepped back from the screen, deep in thought. Redding could have registered under another name. After all, he was a private detective who would have experience going undercover. Perhaps he hadn’t used his real name for fear that Grandma Daisy, as the instigator of the race and the village mayor, would have spotted it and given him the boot. That made sense, but it still didn’t answer why he was dressed in street clothes for the race on such a warm day. I was wearing a biker shirt and shorts—definitely not the most flattering outfit on the planet—and I had been terribly hot during the race.

  Someone cleared her throat behind me. “Violet, should I even ask what you’re doing over here?”

  I jumped back from the computer as if I’d been caught with my hand in the cookie jar. “Hey, Clipton.” I knew my voice was much higher than it normally would be.

  Bobby’s thick eyebrows disappeared under the brim of his hat. “Violet just asked to see the registration list. She said Daisy was asking about a certain rider.”

  Clipton smiled. “I’m sure she did. I’m going to need a printout of that list, Bobby, with names, addresses, and phone numbers. The works.”

  The bike shop owner bristled and looked from Clipton to me and back again. “Why? I don’t see any reason why you would need that. Unless something has happened. I heard that one of the riders crashed near the end of the race. Is that what this is all about?” He looked to me for the answer.

  Clipton cocked her head and reminded me of a curious cocker spaniel. “I’m surprised that Miss Waverly didn’t tell you about the accident. A man by the name of Joel Redding was killed on the course.”

  Bobby’s head whipped around in my direction. “That’s why you asked me if Joel Redding was registered?”

  Busted.

  “Grandma Daisy did want to know for the reason you said.” I shot Clipton a look. “I didn’t tell you about his death because I didn’t know if the police wanted to make it public yet.”

  “Nice save,” Clipton muttered.

  I scowled at her.

  She folded his arms. “So what was the verdict? Was he registered?”

  “We couldn’t find his name,” Bobby said.

  “That doesn’t mean he wasn’t riding under an alias,” Clipton said.

  I wasn’t the least bit surprised that Clipton came to the same conclusion I had.

  The police officer studied Bobby for a long moment. Clipton could have a penetrating stare when she wanted to. “At least twenty riders and just as many spectators saw the accident and heard that a man had died. How did you not know about the death?”

  “I guess I wasn’t at the Riverwalk when that group came in.” His eyes flicked back and forth as if he were looking for someone to save him.

  Bobby was everyone’s good-time guy. I couldn’t remember ever seeing him so jittery. Was he hiding something?

  “Where were you?” Clipton tried to sound casual.

  He wouldn’t meet her eyes. “I had to run back to the shop for some parts to repair some of the bikes. That took about an hour. Maybe my assistant heard something. I haven’t been able to speak to her since I got back.”

  “Who’s your assistant?” Clipton asked.

  “Jo Fitzgerald.”

  I scanned the area, but I didn’t see Jo. I was about to ask where she was when Clipton beat me to it.

  “Where’s Jo now?” Clipton asked.

  “I don’t know.” Bobby licked his lips. “It seems she’s wandered off. She does that at times.”

  “She doesn’t sound like she’s a great employee.” Clipton cocked her head in the other direction. “I want to talk to Jo,” Clipton said, and then she turned to me. “If you see her first, tell her that. I assume you will be looking for her now.”

  I held up my hands in innocence. “Why do you assume that?”

  She had the humor enough to laugh. “Before I go, Bobby, I need a list of all the registered riders.”

  He licked his lips. “Don’t you need a warrant to take that?”

  “This is a public village event. You don’t have any property rights to that information, now, do you?”

  His forehead broke out in a sweat. “You can have it. I don’t want
anything to do with this mess. I’m sorry that a man is dead, but keep me out of it. I don’t know anything about it.”

  “Really?” Clipton almost cooed. “Then why was he riding a bike from your shop?”

  The color drained from Bobby’s face.

  Chapter Eight

  Bobby opened and closed his mouth for a moment like he was deciding what to say, but no words came out. He swallowed. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

  She glanced at me. “There’s a sticker on the undercarriage of Redding’s bicycle stamped with the bike shop’s name, phone number, and address. I’d say that’s a pretty good calling card.”

  Bobby removed his hat, scratched his head, and replaced it. “I don’t know how he got it.”

  “Are any of your bikes missing?”

  “I—I don’t know. I haven’t started inventory yet. The race is just ending, and sales of accessories have been busy. I’m the only one here.”

  “Because Jo wandered off,” Clipton said.

  Bobby’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down.

  She leaned closer to Bobby. “If you don’t know how Redding got your bike, maybe Jo does. I think you will want me to have a chat with her, don’t you?”

  Bobby shook his head. “She doesn’t have anything to do with this. She’s a good kid.”

  “Violet!” A voice called me from the other side of the street. I turned to see Sadie Cunningham waving at me. She was dressed for summer in a lemon-printed bubble dress and peep-toe sandals the same color as her lemons. Her silky black hair was secured in a bun on the very top of her head, and she wore red lipstick.

  Sadie had her arm linked through the arm of her boyfriend, Simon Chase, a tall, bookish, African-American man who was an insurance adjuster and wrote poetry by night. He adored Sadie and her sunny personality. He couldn’t have been more different from her ex, who was gruff and critical. I was thrilled that my best friend had finally fallen for the right guy.

  Clipton smiled at me. “Go on, Violet, visit with your friend. You don’t need to be here for my conversation with Bobby.”