Chapter Two

There was barely enough room to get my mom’s old cruiser bike through the crowd standing near the starting line of the Tour de Cascade Springs. There must have been five hundred riders in front of the imposing village hall that sat slightly elevated on a man-made hill overlooking the Riverwalk, the Niagara River, and Canada on the other side. My grandmother had told me that one of the things she loved most about being the mayor was having that view every day. It was the highest point in the village and had been intentionally built that way in the 1850s.

The village hall was what all of this was about. The building was decaying much worse than anyone in the village had known until my grandmother started construction on the museum. That was when the foundation issues were discovered and the ground underneath the village hall was ruled as potentially unstable. Although safe enough to hold the mayor’s and a few other city offices, it wasn’t deemed safe enough for tourists. Everything had to be fixed before the museum could be completed.

I recognized the slight form coming around the back of the museum. She was in her early twenties but looked much younger because of her diminutive size. Her dark curly hair was cropped close to her head. She made up for her small stature—and her childlike appearance, I thought—with a hoop pierced through her tiny nose. She wore leggings, a flannel shirt, and combat boots. A chain hung down just below the hem of her shirt.

I know teachers aren’t supposed to have favorite students, but we would be lying if we said we didn’t. Jodi “Jo” Fitzgerald was that student for me. She’d been in my composition class last semester, but even before that class, I’d gotten to know her because she worked in the English department office.

It was a tiny department that consisted of one full-time professor and a few other adjuncts like me. Up until this spring semester, Jo had worked for all of us. As I’d written my dissertation the last two semesters, I’d put in extra time at the office. Over that time, Jo and I had become more than student and professor—we’d become friends.

Jo was a talented writer, but when I’d had her in class, she was terribly late with her work. I gave her more extensions than I should have, but she had a gift. In my time as a teaching assistant and now as an English professor, I had read more than my fair share of terrible writing, which was why good writing like hers tended to stand out.

And she had always been polite when she asked for an extension by giving me free coffee from the campus coffee shop where she worked. Maybe I was taking bribes, but in the middle of the semester, free coffee was a lifesaver. I always ended up putting the money I owed her in the tip jar anyway. She was a hardworking student who went to school and worked two jobs to do it. She left working for the English department in December to take a job at the local bike shop, where she could get more consistent hours and higher pay. I didn’t blame her for doing this, but I did miss seeing her around the office.

She was walking toward the street with a deep frown on her face. She looked over her shoulder a few times. I assumed it was because she didn’t want to get run over by an overzealous rider, which was entirely possible. Jo was small. The rider might not see her.

I waved to her, and her face broke into a smile.

“Professor Waverly.” She waved back.

I maneuvered my bike until I was at the edge of the sidewalk. It took some doing and a lot of apologizing. I got my share of dirty looks, but I thought most of those were from riders who thought I was trying to get ahead of them at the starting gate. That couldn’t be further from the truth. I would very happily be at the back of the pack where I was in far less risk of getting run over by anything other than the police car that had the sad job of shepherding the slow riders to the end. Since I was dating the chief of police, I was guessing his officers would be very careful not to hit me.

“Jo,” I said. “I told you, you aren’t in my class any longer. You can call me Violet.”

She grinned. “I think I’m actually supposed to call you Dr. Waverly since you received your PhD.”

I laughed. “That’s true, but Violet works just fine. Are you in the race?”

“Heck no,” she said. “I’m not a crazy person.”

I looked down at my bike.

“Dr. Waverly, you are a little crazy.”

“Maybe a little. My boyfriend, David, really wanted to do this as a couple thing, so here I am.”

“Where is he?” she asked, looking all around and going slightly pale at the mention of the police chief.

My brow wrinkled. “I’m guessing near the front. David hates to lose at anything. I’m definitely a back-of-the-pack rider.”

“It’s safer back there.”

“Agreed.”

“What were you doing behind the village hall?”

Her body jerked. “The village hall?”

“Yes,” I said slowly. “That giant building behind you.”

“Oh, right. I just was saying hello to my brother. He’s working in there today.”

“I didn’t know you had a brother who worked for the village.” My brow wrinkled even more. I would have thought Grandma Daisy would have mentioned to me that Jo had a brother who worked for the city. I had talked about the student enough because of the many times I had been worried about her throughout the semester. At one point, I’d thought I would have to fail Jo because she hadn’t done enough of the assignments to pass, no matter how I reworked the math. In the end she came through and got a B-minus. Had she done the work in a more timely fashion, she would have had an A-plus based on her writing alone.

“He doesn’t work for the village exactly. His company is working on the museum.”

“He’s the contractor?”

She nodded. “He lives in Niagara Falls, and I don’t see him that often. It’s been fun having him so close. Most of the time all he does is ask me about school, though.” She rolled her eyes. “Like that’s the only thing that matters.”

“I’m sure he just wants you to succeed. Have you thought about transferring to a four-year college yet? There are several in Niagara Falls that would be a close driving distance for you, or you could take the bus. You wouldn’t have to pay to live on campus. I would write a recommendation letter for you.”

Her face closed off, and I knew I’d lost her. I had been pushing a bachelor’s degree on Jo too hard. Springside was a community college, so the most we awarded was an associate’s degree. Jo had the talent to go further than what we offered, but I was in real risk of alienating her completely if I brought it up again.

“Just keep that in mind,” I said. “I won’t mention it again.”

“I know you’re just trying to help, Violet.” She said my name as if she was testing it out.

“There you go,” I said. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Jo!” a booming voice called from the Riverwalk.

“Yikes, that’s Bobby. I had better get back. The bike shop booth has been nuts since six this morning. I think Bobby’s in real risk of keeling over from the excitement.”

I laughed. Bobby Holmes was the owner of Bobby’s Bike Shop. He was a compact, bald, African-American man who talked fast and knew bikes like some people knew their shoe size or their phone numbers. My grandmother had recruited him to handle the registration for the race. In exchange for that volunteer work, he’d gotten a prime spot on the Riverwalk before, during, and after the race to sell his merchandise to the hundreds of riders.

“Violet!” Rainwater waved at me from near the starting line.

I chuckled. “Looks like I’m being summoned, too.”

She nodded, and the worried expression she’d had earlier reappeared on her face. I didn’t get a chance to ask her what was going on, because she waved at me. “I’ll see you after the race. Professor—Doctor—Waverly. Ride hard!” With that, she ran across the street to where Bobby was waiting for her.

I watched her go with a furrowed brow.

Someone announced over the loudspeaker that the race would start in two minutes.

Rainwater appeared at my side and said, “Let’s find a spot.” He sounded more excited than I’d ever heard him. I followed him with my bike to a spot in the middle of the pack. “This is good.” He squeezed my hand. “Are you ready to ride?”

I smiled back. “With you? Yes.”

He grinned. “That’s all I need to hear.”

As the gunshot signaling the beginning of the race went off, my concern for Jo fell away as I concentrated on not getting run over by eager riders. Had I known what was to happen that day, the worry would never have left me.