Skating Under the Wire: A Mystery (Rebecca Robbins Mysteries)
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Authors: Joelle Charbonneau
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For Max, who fills my world with laughter
Acknowledgments
I cannot begin to express how grateful I am for the opportunity to write this series. After four books, Rebecca, Pop, and the Indian Falls gang are still so much fun to visit, and I owe a great deal of thanks to all the readers, librarians, and booksellers who have supported these books. Also, thank you to my family, who encourage me every day to follow this strange and wonderful career path. I love you all!
My heartfelt thanks also go to the Thomas Dunne/Minotaur team, especially Andy Martin, Toni Kirkpatrick, Hector DeJean, David Baldeosingh Rotstein, and Doron Ben-Ami. Also, much thanks goes to the wonderful India Cooper for her copyediting process. I would not be able to do what I do without the amazing support and incredible talent of my agent, Stacia Decker.
Over the past couple of years, I have been lucky to come in contact with some incredible writers who have convinced me to always believe in myself. I can’t name them all, but I do want to give shout-outs to Chuck Wendig, Adam Christopher, Nancy Parra, Deb Gross, Erica O’Rourke, Steve Weddle, Thea Harrison, Scott Parker, Jay Stringer, Sophie Littlefield, Tracy Kiely, Brad Parks, Daniel Palmer, Chris Holm, Owen Laukkanen, Jamie Freveletti, Tasha Alexander, Andrew Grant, Linda Rodriguez, Donnell Bell, Jennifer McAndrews, Joelle Anthony, Sarah Anderson, and Heather Graham, as well as everyone on Team Decker. Thank you for the wonderful stories you create and your generous spirit.
Last, to everyone who picks up this book—thank you from the bottom of my heart.
Contents
One
Nothing says romance like
Bingo and Bengay. At least, I was telling myself that as I placed a token over the square marked “meat tenderizer” on my Bridal Bingo card. Pink and white crepe-paper bells hung from the ceiling, and every table in the senior center’s recreation room was packed as the bride-to-be and one of my best friends, Danielle Martinez, held up the silver mallet for the crowd to admire.
I heard one woman say, “That should do the trick on a flank steak.”
Personally, I thought the industrial-sized hammer would do the trick on just about anything—especially Danielle’s controlling soon-to-be mother-in-law. Dressed in a flowing light blue skirt and high-necked white blouse, Danielle was the epitome of sweetness and decorum. However, the tire she had punctured on my car a few months ago knew better.
“Bingo.” A hand shot up three tables back. “What do I win?”
“You don’t win anything until the maid of honor checks your card.” Danielle pushed a lock of dark hair off her face and gave me a bright smile. “Right, Rebecca?”
“Right, Danielle.” Actually, I had no idea this was part of my job, but I wasn’t about to argue with a woman holding a meat mallet. Besides, because Danielle was marrying the pastor of the town’s Lutheran church, the St. Mark’s Women’s Guild had relieved me of most of the shower-planning duties. Since I hadn’t been required to do much up to this point, I wasn’t in a position to complain.
The bottle-blond lady with the potential winning card eyed me with suspicion from under a flowery blue hat. Carefully, I checked to make sure each square was marked correctly. Each was, which meant the winner was now the proud owner of a Santa scarecrow crafted by Louise Lagotti, my grandfather’s onetime girlfriend.
Everyone clapped for the bingo winner, and Danielle reached for her next gift.
“Oh, could you wait to open that one, dear?” Spritelike Ethel Jacabowski stood and gave Danielle an apologetic smile. “That’s from Ginny and me. She went to the television room to get her glasses, but she’s not back yet. I’d hate for her to miss the big moment.”
Danielle put the silver-wrapped gift back on the table with a smile. “I’ll wait to open it until Ginny gets here. How about I open this one instead?”
Ethel nodded and shuffled toward the door in search of Ginny while Danielle tore into a box covered in pink-and-white paper. Danielle held up a set of red-and-white Tupperware bowls, and everyone sighed.
I was heading back up front to do whatever else my maid of honor status decreed I do when I felt a tap on my shoulder.
“Rebecca? Do you have a minute?”
I automatically smiled as I turned. The smile froze and I started to sweat as I realized the tapper was none other than my high school English teacher, Mrs. Johnson.
I looked over at Danielle, who was happily tearing into another package. Since she didn’t seem to miss me, I said, “Um. Sure, Mrs. Johnson.” Was I eloquent or what?
Mrs. Johnson looked around the room and then motioned for me to follow her. Eek. Suddenly, I was back in the tenth grade, hoping she wasn’t going to yell at me for dangling my participle. Not that Mrs. Johnson was ever mean. As a matter of fact, she was probably the nicest teacher I’d ever had. For some funny reason, though, she expected more from me than from the other kids in my class. Part of me was delighted someone thought I could do more than live in Indian Falls and help run my mother’s roller-skating rink. The other part was terrified I’d disappoint. The terrified part couldn’t help but wonder what Mrs. Johnson thought of my recent decision to pull the rink off the real estate market and stay in town.
We reached the back of the room as Danielle pulled his-and-her aprons out of a box. I tried not to fidget as Mrs. Johnson turned her attention from the gifts to me.
Her blue eyes met mine. “Your grandfather suggested I talk to you.”
My stomach clenched, and I said a brief prayer that Mrs. Johnson wasn’t one of my grandfather’s girlfriends. Thus far Pop had limited his extensive dating pool to women old enough to cash in on the senior citizen discount. Mrs. Johnson didn’t qualify. With shoulder-length ash-blond hair, a trim figure, and a flattering copper dress, Mrs. Johnson looked like she hadn’t aged a day since my years at Indian Falls High School.
“Do you need to book the rink for a party?” I asked.
She shook her head. “No, although I wanted to tell you how much my daughter and I enjoy watching EstroGenocide. Renee’s thinking about trying out for the team next season.”
EstroGenocide was the rink’s female flat-track derby team. Not only did the team pack the rink with fans for every bout, they’d also taken first in their season-ending tournament last week. Aside from a few glitches, letting the derby team become a member of the Toe Stop family was turning out to be the best business decision I’d ever made. “I’m sure a few of the team members would be happy to give Renee some pointers. Just have her come by the rink, and I’ll make the introductions.”
“I’ll tell her.” Applause for a set of CorningWare rang out. When the applause died, Mrs. Johnson said, “I have a problem, and your grandfather thought your unique skills would be helpful in solving it.”
Unique skills? The only thing I was truly skilled at was getting back onto my roller skates after taking a spill. Somehow I didn’t think my former teacher was looking for tips on how to pull splinters out of her backside. “What kind of problem, Mrs. Johnson?”
“Please, call me Julie.” She smiled. I returned the smile even though I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to be able to call her anything but Mrs. Johnson. “Have you heard about the Thanksgiving Day thefts?”
I nodded. With Thanksgiving less than two weeks away, it was hard to escape the speculation on which house would be hit this year. Especially around my grandfather. Pop and his friends elevated gossip to an art form. For the past ten Thanksgivings, thieves had broken into unattended homes. Jewelry, coin collections, cash, and other small valuables were taken. Televisions and larger items were always left behind. Not once had the thieves been spotted. Over the years the sheriff’s department had investigated but had never come up with even one substantial lead. Rumor had it that this year Deputy Sean Holmes was making it his mission to catch the thieves and finally bring them to justice. Pop had started a pool betting on whether Deputy Sean would succeed. Unfortunately, the odds were definitely not in Sean’s favor.
“Well, I’m sad to say, two years ago, mine was one of the houses broken into.” Mrs. Johnson sighed. “I knew about the thefts, but you never think something like that is going to happen to you, especially since the police had made a point of putting six extra cars on patrol for the day. Renee and I went to a friend’s house for an early dinner. We were only gone two hours, but when we came back the front door was unlocked and some of our things were missing.”
“Bingo!” a woman yelled from a table in the middle of the room. I excused myself and wove around chairs to verify her card’s win. Then I presented her with her prize—another scarecrow, this one dressed as a Pilgrim.
Danielle moved on to the next gift, and I walked back to Mrs. Johnson. “Have the police recovered any of your stolen belongings?” I asked. Pop had mentioned that a few of the stolen goods had been found on eBay or in consignment shops in Moline, Rockford, and Chicago.
“No. That’s why I wanted to talk to you.” She dug into her purse and pulled out a piece of paper. “I have a list of the items the thieves took.”
Mrs. Johnson unfolded the paper and handed it to me. Silverware. Jewelry. A gold-plated serving set. A Waterford clock. Seven hundred dollars in cash. A large vase filled with loose change. Three pillowcases.
“Most of them aren’t terribly important,” Mrs. Johnson said. “Although I hate that someone took them. The two things I really want to find are my husband’s watch and my great-grandmother’s engagement ring. The ring’s been passed down from daughter to daughter for over a hundred years. Now it’s gone.”
At the front of the room, Danielle held up a power drill. Not exactly my idea of a wedding gift, but I’d never been close to marriage. What did I know?
I looked down at the paper in my hands. The last item listed didn’t seem typical either. “Why would the thieves take pillowcases?”
“Deputy Holmes speculated that the thieves used them as bags and carried everything out in them.”
Made sense to me. What didn’t make sense was why Mrs. Johnson was talking to me about this. “I’m sorry your house was broken into, but I’m not sure I’m the best person to help track down your great-grandmother’s ring.”
“Oh, I don’t want you to track down the ring,” Mrs. Johnson said.
Good, because I had no idea where to begin.
“I want you to catch the people who took it.”
In high school, a lot of teachers had unrealistic expectations for students. Face it, not every kid was going to be the next Hemingway or Einstein no matter how much she studied. Mrs. Johnson was always careful to treat each student as an individual. What garnered praise for one was not acceptable work from another. Mrs. Johnson understood realistic expectations.