The day turned out to be more hectic than she had expected. Delgado’s had been slammed from one to almost four. The influx of delivery orders had hit them the hardest. They’d all been in walking distance, and she didn’t mind doing it. With the nonstop pace, she hadn’t gotten a chance to pick up her car after the tire place had called.
Things had finally slowed down, but the dinner rush would begin in a couple of hours.
“Xavier, do you mind covering things for a bit?”
He gave her a weary look. “Sure. Whatever you need. Where are you off to this time?”
“I need to pick up my car, and there’s one errand I’ve been thinking about.” What Holden had said about her having more information than she realized kept bugging her. She hated sitting around waiting for him to call to have her look at one bike at a time. There had to be a more efficient way to narrow it down. “Is there a motorcycle showroom around here or a shop that might have a variety of bikes?”
“Are you thinking about buying a motorcycle?”
“No, nothing like that. Do you know a place?”
“There’s Custom Gears over on Sudley. They’re always working on a bunch of different bikes at the garage. It’s owned by the Burk family.”
“Any relation to Emma Burk?”
“One and the same. Her dad and brother Kyle work there.”
That might be the perfect place. Emma’s family must want to help find her killer.
She ordered another rideshare to take her to the tire place. When it arrived, she grabbed her coat and purse. “I’ll be back,” she said to Xavier, heading for the door.
“Please, hurry.”
“I’ll do my best.”
STANDING IN THE automotive shop, Grace was having a hard time understanding what the mechanic, Ty, was telling her. “What do you mean my car isn’t fixed? Why did you call if it wasn’t ready? I already authorized you to charge my credit card for new tires if you couldn’t patch the old ones.”
Ty might have appeared exasperated, but it wasn’t reflected in his tone. “Definitely couldn’t be patched. But I take it you didn’t listen to the message I left?”
No, she hadn’t. She had assumed the reason for the call had been to tell her the vehicle was ready. “Did my credit card not go through?” She would’ve sworn she had a thousand dollars left on it that she had promised herself to only use in case of an emergency. Tires fit the bill.
Ty chewed on a toothpick. “I didn’t run the card because I needed to make sure you wanted me to put the new tires on first.”
Confusion returned. Amplified. “Were they more expensive than you estimated?”
“Nope. Cheaper actually. Because I gave you a ten percent first-time customer discount.”
“Thanks for that.” But now, she was the one so exasperated that she had to resist the urge to beat her head against the auto shop wall. “Ty, I haven’t had much sleep, it’s been a long day, and I have to go back to work and stay there until almost midnight. So if you could please help me understand why you didn’t put on the new ones I would appreciate it.”
“Easier to show you.” He led her to her tires, which had been removed, and pointed at them.
“I can see that they’re still flat. Is there something else I’m supposed to be looking at?”
“Both tires have gashes in them.” He folded his arms. “Long slices about three inches.”
“Okay.” She shrugged. “I live on Old Mill, the road with all the gravel. Could a sharp stone have done it?”
“It’s possible.” Ty looked doubtful. “If that stone was holding a knife.”
As she took the time to examine the slashes that had killed her tires, a chill ran through her.
“Have you annoyed or angered anyone recently?” Ty asked. “Someone who might be looking for payback?”
Rodney.
The thought of that man had her blood turning from ice-cold to boiling.
“I can think of one,” she said.
“Figured you might want to resolve that issue before I go putting on new tires that might just get slashed again. That would be like lighting three hundred bucks on fire.” Frowning, he sighed. “You’re a nice lady. Cute, too. I would hate to see you burn money.”
She most certainly did not have money to burn. But she also needed a car. “Go ahead and put the tires on.”
His frown deepened like it was a decision she might regret. “Are you sure? You might want to go make amends with whoever did this first.”
“I am the injured party here.” She pointed to her chest. “Not that pig...” Biting her tongue, she swallowed the foul words rising in her throat instead of voicing them. “I’ve got to have a vehicle. I can’t keep paying for a rideshare.”
“All right. Suit yourself. Let’s burn some money.”
She ignored Ty’s comment. “How long will it take?”
“An hour. Maybe a little longer.”
Looking at the clock on her phone, she rubbed her forehead with the heel of her hand. “I can’t afford to waste an hour here. I still have another errand to run before I go back to work. And I really can’t afford to take another rideshare.”
“Can you drive a stick?” he asked.
Only if she had to. “Yes, why?”
Ty dug in his pocket and pulled out a set of car keys. “You can take my ride to run your errand. Save you a few bucks.”
This was a perfect example of what she loved about the Cowboy State. The mechanic at a chain store tire shop in LA never would’ve made such a kind offer. “Thank you, Ty. I appreciate it.”
GRACE JUMPED IN the vintage muscle car and headed for Sudley Drive. Handling the gearshift was like riding a bike. You never forgot. She was familiar with Sudley but had never noticed a repair shop. Then again, she hadn’t been looking for one.
It was easy to spot. Hanging over the garage was a huge white sign that had a fist clutching a wrench. She parked, and as she stepped inside the front office, a bell chimed.
A young man with a cast on his arm came up to the reception desk. He had light brown hair that was a little long in the front. His brown eyes were glassy and sorrowful. He was the spitting image of Todd, only younger. His name tag read Kyle. “Afternoon. How can I help you?”
“Are you Kyle Burk?”
“I am.”
“My name is Grace Clark. I witnessed what happened to your sister last night. I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.” His brows drew together. “I’m not sure I understand why you’re here.”
“I want to help your family catch her killer, but I might need your help to do it.”
“What can I do?”
“Let me look at some motorcycles. Listen to the engines. Specifically sport bikes and cruisers.”
“Not sure how that’ll help, but okay.” He took her into the open bay of the garage.
The two men who were working on vehicles stopped what they were doing and stared at her.
Kyle ignored them and showed her a red motorcycle. He rattled off a ton of details about it, but the only thing that stuck was that it was a dual sport.
“Could you crank the engine for me?” she asked. “Rev it a bit?”
“Sure.” Kyle called over one of the guys gawking, had him climb on and fire it up.
“Can you sit on it the way you would if you were riding on the road?”
From the front, looking at the way he had to lean forward, she didn’t think the body style of this vehicle was quite right.
He turned the handgrips, revving the engine for her. The sound was sharp and zippy. Definitely not what she had heard the other night.
“Do all sport bikes sound like this? So high-pitched?”
“More or less,” Kyle said. “It has to do with the RPMs, rotations per min at which the different motors operate. Sport bikes operate at a very high RPM range.”
That helped. At least she could eliminate another type of motorcycle. “What are the most common cruisers around here?” she asked.
“Harleys, by far,” Kyle said, and the other guy nodded in agreement. “We’re working on a couple. The good thing about them is they all use big twin engines. Much lower RPM that produces a deeper, heavier sound.”
Seemed like a bad thing since it would make it harder to narrow down which kind of cruiser.
They pointed out the Harleys in the shop. As soon as the intense grumble from the engine of one vibrated through her she knew that was the same growl. It was either a Harley or a bike that sounded like it.
Kyle was patient, explaining the differences between the frames, angle of the seats, where a rider would rest his feet, body positioning and so forth. The guy on the bike even pulled up the manufacturer’s website on his phone and showed her pictures of the ones they didn’t have in the shop.
With their expert guidance, she was able to eliminate any that had windshields or fairings—strategically placed panels that help manipulate airflow. Then based on the positioning of the rider’s body on the bike, they narrowed the field further down to a Fat Boy and a Fat Bob. They were very similar. Any differences were slight and none she would be able to discern at night.
“Are you sure it’s one of those?” Kyle asked her.
“Not a hundred percent. I mean it was dark and raining. But the driver was right up on me. I’m pretty certain about the body positioning.”
“Then it’s got to be one of those,” the other guy said.
“Does your brother ride a Fat Boy or Fat Bob?” she asked.
Kyle stiffened. “Todd?”
“Yeah,” she said.
“I can’t help any more.” The guy got off the motorcycle. “I’ve got to get back to work,” he said, hurrying away.
The other man in the shop, who’d been eavesdropping the entire time, took out his cell phone and made a call while staring at her.
“Come with me.” Kyle hustled outside of the repair shop.
Grace was right on his heels. “What just happened?”
“You can’t ask about the MC,” he said in a harsh whisper.
“The MC?”
“The motorcycle club. The Iron Warriors. You can’t ask about them.”
“Why not?”
“Casey is on the phone right now reporting back to them about you,” Kyle said, and she glanced over her shoulder at the guy giving someone on the other end an earful. “Go, before one of them shows up. Or worse, Todd does. My brother will cause trouble for you.” He turned to go back inside.
“Wait.” She put a hand on his forearm, stopping him. “You didn’t answer my question. Does Todd ride one of those two motorcycles?”
Kyle swore with a defeated look on his face. “Yes. A Fat Bob. But you didn’t hear that from me. Please, leave.” His tone was pleading and urgent. “You do not want to be on the radar of the Iron Warriors.”
Flicking another glance at the guy broadcasting the details of her visit, she feared that was already too late.