Loose Screw (Dusty Deals Mystery) (17 page)

I began to apologize for holding them up. “Don’t be silly,” Angie broke in. “You’re doing great. Just keep going. We’re almost to the trail.” She pointed up the street. It seemed to climb endlessly at an impossible angle.

“You could try peddling standing or you can sit down, but remember to stay forward on your saddle. It’ll make the going easier.” Gary gave me an encouraging smile.

We set off again. Within 10 yards, I knew I was going to have a heart attack. My heart thumped so hard I was afraid it would break through my rib cage and go flying up the hill, and I wouldn’t even have the energy to retrieve it. I pushed my bike into the lowest gear and tried standing up.

“That’s it. You’re doing great.” Angie yelled from where she and Gary again waited for me and the equally winded Cindy. I gave Angie a half-hearted wave as Lynn and Kent rolled to a stop beside her and Gary. I looked back and saw Cindy had given up and now walked beside her bike, pushing it up the hill. I kept peddling. Finally, pain beat out pride. I got off my bike and pushed too.

As I reached up to brush a stream of sweat out of my eyes, I saw a large, silver 4x4 truck turning onto the street beside us. Peter Blake reached his hand out the window and waved our direction. As he drove past, I could see him chuckling and grinning.

Steaming from more than the exercise, I trudged the rest of the way up the hill.

“Don’t stop now. We haven’t even made it to the trail.” Angie and Lynn tried to convince Cindy to keep going. I pulled my bottle out of its metal cradle and squirted some water into my mouth. Leaning against a nearby tree, I willed my heart to a slower pace. I looked down at my chest to see if the pounding was visible from the outside. Reassured when it wasn’t, I took a deep breath and another shot of water.

Angie and Lynn finally gave up their battle to keep Cindy going. I watched, Jadeite green with envy, as she made her way down the hill.

“You’re doing great, Lucy, really.” Gary hung back as the others peddled ahead.

“Do you know CPR? Because I’m pretty sure I’m going to have a heart attack before this is over,” I answered.

Gary laughed. Did he think I was kidding?

“No, you won’t. You’re doing great. Just keep going at an easy pace. Once we hit the meadow you’ll be fine.”

Nice he was confident. I wasn’t. I bought more break time by asking, “Did you know Cindy was Darrell’s niece?”

“Yeah, Darrell’s a big road bike rider. He’s been pushing her to take up biking for years. He thinks she needs to slim down a bit.”

“He said that? That she needs to lose weight?”

My outrage must have come through. Gary looked embarrassed.

“Not in those words maybe, but yeah. Pretty much.” He shifted on his seat. “Darrell’s really into road rides and fitness. He even went on a ride along the Rockies a couple of months ago. I think he just wants what’s best for her health.”

I didn’t think the extra 20 or so pounds Cindy was packing made her a candidate for a fitness intervention, but I kept my mouth closed. Too much talk of weight control made me antsy. Why draw attention to my own pleasantly padded posterior? Especially when surrounded by rock-hard buns and quarter-bouncing abs—and that was just Angie and Lynn.

I continued my struggle up the hillside, peddling some, walking some. After what seemed like an eternity, we reached the end of the pavement and turned off into the meadow. It was a wide green area with red and yellow wildflowers growing along the rough path. I resisted the temptation to throw my bike down and bury myself in the grass.

“The trail starts on the other side of the meadow.” Gary pointed to an opening between two trees. “Lucy, how you doing?”

“I still can’t peddle,” I answered gruffly.

“I think you have too much air in your tires.” Angie bounded off her bike and squatted down next to my front tire. I could hear air escaping from the valve. She moved to the back tire and repeated the process. “There. That will give you a much better ride.”

I tried not grimace as I smiled my thanks. We formed a line to go down the trail. Gary stopped in front of us. “Okay, things to remember when going down a descent: start with your pedals horizontal to the ground, shift to the largest chain ring, and keep your eyes on the trail about 15 feet ahead of you. Look for the best route to go, not just what you want to avoid. Keep your body relaxed, and let your knees absorb the shock of the bumps.” He reached up and adjusted his helmet. “But most of all, just have fun.”

As they say, what goes up must come down. I eyed the trail nervously. It curved in and out of trees, hugging the side of the mountain. To the left was a sheer drop accented by an occasional pine tree or massive rock.

I stood up on my pedals and tried to concentrate on the trail. “Great, Lucy, keep your weight off the saddle and your pedals level. You’re doing fine.” Gary stayed behind me as I bumped along.

The trail angled down the mountain, but the incline was manageable. The challenge was in handling the constant bumps and dips. I focused on keeping my rear off the seat and my pedals level. By the time I reached the bottom, I was exhilarated, the memory of my previously pounding heart completely forgotten.

“Wow, what a rush.” Lynn removed her helmet and brushed her fingers through her short hair.

 Kent straddled his bike, draining his water bottle. His face was flushed, but when he pulled the water bottle down he grinned. He shook his head and let sweat fly.

I pulled in beside Lynn, out of the range of any stray sweat beads. “Yeah, that was a lot of fun.” I couldn’t control my grin. I beamed at them as if I’d just been handed the deed to the Smithsonian.

“Who wants to try another trail?” Angie already had her helmet buckled and her foot on the pedal.

The trip down had been fun, but I knew there was no way I was going up any more hills tonight. Not unless someone towed me. “No thanks; I need to get home and let my dog out.” God bless Kiska for giving me an excuse.

Everyone but Gary started off down another trail.

“Are you sure?” Gary asked. His eyes softened as he looked at me.

I felt my heart melt slightly, but everything else screamed no. I held strong. “I’m sure. Besides, tomorrow’s the jazz festival. I have to get in the shop early.”

“Yeah, I’m supposed to take some pictures of the merchants. Make sure you get to the shoot.” He gave me a grin. “I bet you’ll make a cute flapper.”

Amazed he accepted my lame excuse, I laughed. “I don’t know about that, but I’m sure Betty’s outfit will be photo worthy. This entire week has been a dress rehearsal for tomorrow. I can’t wait to see her.”

We said our good-byes, and Gary peddled after the other diehards. I coasted down to the Cherokee and stowed my bike in back. My butt muscles were already cramping when I pulled into my garage. I wasn’t going to be doing too many Charleston kicks tomorrow.

Kiska met me with a smile and a wagging tail. “Hey K-man, did you miss me?” I scratched his chest.

Kiska replied with a vigorous
woo woo woo
. After giving him a big hug and a glad-to-see-you cookie, I let him outside. I hung up the dress, dumped my dirty clothes, switched on the TV for company, and went in search of food.

It had been a long day, and my trip up the mountain must have burned at least 1000 calories. I rooted around in the freezer until I uncovered a stash of White Castle hamburgers, or belly bombers as they’re commonly called. To compensate for this dietary indiscretion, I plucked a bag of baked chips out of the pantry. With the addition of a Diet Pepsi with milk and a bowl of Heinz for dipping, I was ready to chow down.

It was almost eight o’clock, and my current favorite show,
Scavenger Hunt
, was about to start. Two teams were given nothing but a map and a few clues before being dropped off in some remote locale. The goal of the game was to be the first to discover a “treasure” hidden somewhere and bring it to a designated spot. The trick was knowing what held value and what didn’t. The teams could only select one of many items hidden along the way. Frequently, the game’s participants passed over what was worth the most. The team that made it back with the most expensive item won the dollar value of their find.

I carried my meal into the living room and settled onto the floor. By the time the winning team had turned in their find, an 1855 Swedish 3-skilling banco stamp worth over $1 million, I had devoured all three burgers and two glasses of Diet Pepsi. I practiced my self-control by folding over the end of the chip bag with at least three full chips and some crumbs still inside. My own special weight maintenance plan: always leave the table hungry.

With Kiska curled up next to me, I plucked out fresh tufts of his fur and constructed a tidy little igloo.

The jazz festival was tomorrow—almost a guaranteed good time.

I needed a break from the conflict in my life as of late. Just one day without any yelling, kissing, or dying.

Well, maybe a little kissing would be okay.

Chapter 17

Friday morning, I woke stiff and uneasy. I stretched my legs out and attempted to sit up. Not an easy task. Wishing for a piece of leather to grip between my teeth, I forced myself into a sitting position. Upright, I still wasn’t eager to start my day.

I reached my arms over my head and tried a light stretch to check my pain level—tolerable, or it would be after a few dozen Advil.

As I struggled out of my Scooby Doo sheets, I considered the reasons, besides hideous physical pain, for my reluctance to get moving.

Things weren’t that bad. My love life was a tangled mess, but for the first time in months, I seemed to have a love life—of sorts.

My business wasn’t booming, but it was steady.

No family problems. Kiska and I were both healthy. I was writing again. Only a couple of things were really looming over me: James Crandell’s murder and proving to Ted that I could cover the story, that he was wrong, that I wasn’t a wuss, that I was in fact damn good at what I did... or had done. 

I realized then how much I wanted to hear Ted admit he’d been wrong about me. An apology with him on his knees would also be nice, but just a “good job, Mathews” would do... maybe.

I really did hate that damn deer head.

Maybe when he was done groveling, I’d grant forgiveness under one condition: that he haul the thing out to Canyon Ferry Lake and drop it in.

Busy gloating about my future success, I bumped into Kiska who lay in the doorway to the kitchen with his head resting on his front paws. He watched me with sad eyes.

I sighed.
Back to reality
.

“Okay, okay, I know you’ve been neglected this week. You want to come with me today?” I reached into my cupboard for a peanut butter dog cookie and waved it back and forth.

His faith in me renewed, Kiska pushed himself into his standard semi-vertical sit and thumped his tail on the floor. After chomping down his treat, he followed me to the door for his morning tree baptism.

A used coffee filter partially hid the remains of the White Castle box in my trash, but did nothing to alleviate my guilt. With a sigh, I removed the foil wrapping from a low fat cereal bar and shuffled off to the shower.

After wrestling my way into a pair of tummy-tucking pantyhose, I pulled Betty’s dress over my head and shook it into place. The beads clanked and clattered. It was like wearing one of those bead curtains from the 70s. I resisted the urge to twist and shake like a waterlogged collie.

My hair and makeup I did in twenties’ chic. Lots of gel, lots of mascara, and lots of lipstick. By the time I’d topped it all off with a long strand of pearls tied in a knot and a Marilyn Monroe beauty mark, I was feeling positively giddy. It’s amazing what a pretty dress will do for a girl’s outlook.

Satisfied with my appearance, if not everything else in my life, I kicked up one heel, twirled my pearls, and grabbed a small beaded purse. I heaved Kiska into the Cherokee, and we headed into town.

Since I was early for a record-breaking second time this week, I stopped by the vending machine for a copy of the
News
. With it folded under one arm, I led Kiska down the Gulch and into Dusty Deals. Kiska patiently waited for me to flip on the lights before he began
oww wow wowing
at me. I followed him to my office, poured out a liberal two cups of food and shut him in.

With one of Betty’s jazz CDs setting the mood, I arranged myself on the stool behind the counter. I quickly discovered a beaded dress and a wooden stool do not comfortable seating make. I gave up and moved to the marginally softer horsehair loveseat just as Betty whirled in through the door.

She had chosen an elegantly subdued dress of black, bronze, and gold. Adorning one shoulder was a dead mink frozen in time with his tail clinched in his teeth. The gauzy material of the handkerchief skirt floated around her as she twirled to a stop in front of me.

“Hey you, where’d you get that?” I set the paper down on the seat beside me. “Is that real gold thread?”

Betty looked at the gold stitching on her bodice. “Sure looks it, doesn’t it? I picked this little number up online. It was a real orchid, but worth every penny.”

She rose up on her toes and gave another turn. Settling back on her heels, she gave me an appraising look and reached out to grab my hand. “Well, let’s see you in your glad-rags. Stand up, stand up.”

I stood and performed my own little turn.

“You’re a real smarty. How’s it feel? Fun, right?” Betty glowed.

I ran my hands over my dress and replied, “Thanks, yeah it is pretty fun, but these beads can really be a pain in the ass—literally.”

“Ah, just the price of beauty.” Betty smiled and adjusted the mink’s head a little higher on her shoulder. “I read your story this morning. You think Rhonda’s boyfriend offed his cousin?”

I shook my head. “No, I don’t. I mean Silas, like all of Rhonda’s boyfriends, has a few eccentricities, but I don’t think he’s a killer. And most importantly, Rhonda doesn’t think he is.” I twisted my strand of pearls. “Something’s missing. I just wish I could figure out what.”