Chapter Four

My reaction time wasn’t as quick as Rainwater’s, but I took off after him, not even bothering to take off my violet helmet as I made my way through the crowd.

The bike race had come to a complete stop at this point as more and more riders and onlookers gathered on the road. I pushed my way through the throng. “Excuse me. Excuse me. I’m with the police.”

Most of the people were tourists who didn’t know me, so claiming I was with the police didn’t seem like too much of a risk, especially since I was with Rainwater.

The spandex-clad crowd parted ways for me. I saw Rainwater and the EMTs who were there to treat injuries for the race, but I doubted they’d expected a death. I cringed to think what I would find and what it would mean for the village or my grandmother if a rider had died during the Tour de Cascade Springs. Like all races, this one had required each participant to sign a lengthy waiver acknowledging that if he or she was maimed or killed during the ride, it wasn’t the village’s fault and the village couldn’t be sued, but the bad press was certainly unavoidable.

“Excuse me,” I said to a large man in my path. His biker shorts were stretched to the limit.

He glared at me so hard that I stumbled back in surprise. He wasn’t a person I knew, but that didn’t mean much. In the late spring and summer, Cascade Springs was overrun with tourists from all over the world. It was a popular place on the bed-and-breakfast circuit for those visiting the majestic Niagara Falls.

I edged around the man.

“Looks like a bad accident,” someone said.

“I think I’ve seen him in the village before. Wasn’t he here in the winter when all that went down with the Morton family?”

I shivered as I started to realize who must be lying on the ground. Maybe I was wrong—I was still holding out hope that it wasn’t who I thought it was. It couldn’t possibly be.

“Looks to me like he lost control while coming down the hill.”

“What an awful thing to happen at a wonderful charity event,” another bystander mused.

I pushed through the crowd and made my way to the front. Finally, I spotted Rainwater leaning over a man lying on the ground. A few feet away, the man’s red-and-silver bike lay crumpled on the road. The front wheel was bent; the spokes had broken loose from the rim. It was clear that whatever caused the accident had thrown him over the handlebars.

I edged around the scene, taking care to keep my distance. Rainwater wouldn’t want me to be there, but he wouldn’t be surprised I was here either.

I saw a foot sticking out next to Rainwater. What caught my attention most about it was that it was a loafer, which wasn’t exactly a regulation cycling shoe. I inched a little to the left and looked at the face of the person on the ground, but I already knew who it would be. Joel Redding. This was definitely a time that I didn’t want to be right.

I hadn’t cared for the man in life, but in death, I had sympathy for him. What a terrible way to die. I swallowed hard. Had the shop revealed Walt Whitman to me after I saw Redding the night before so I would know to warn him? Had I failed somehow and contributed to his death by not understanding what the essence wanted me to do? I knew from past experience that when the shop’s essence put a book in my path repeatedly, there was a reason. It was its way of giving me clues of what was to come, to help me understand what had happened, and at times to warn me. Honestly, it would have been a whole lot easier if it would just come right out and say what the heck was going on, but according to my grandmother, it had never worked that way.

“This was on him, Chief,” Officer Clipton said. She was a curvy female officer and wore a reflective yellow smock over her uniform. All the police on the sidelines of the race were wearing them so that visitors and villagers alike could find the police quickly during the race if the need should arise. And boy, had it ever.

Rainwater looked up, and by the flicker in his amber eyes, I knew he took notice of me standing there with my mouth hanging open. “What is it?” Rainwater asked.

“A book. It was in the pack on the back of his bike.” Clipton shook her head. “Who rides in a bike race with a book?”

“Maybe he wasn’t a part of the race,” Wheaton, a male officer with a buzz-cut and a massive chip on his shoulder, suggested. “He’s not dressed for it. What book?”

“He was on a bike. Poetry. Leaves of Grass,” Clipton said. “I’m sure you’ve never read it.”

The other officer scowled back at her.

I felt woozy at hearing the title.

“We have to secure the scene,” Rainwater said. His voice was sharp.

“I just got radioed that there is another pack of riders coming this way.”

“We need to divert them,” Rainwater said. “Clipton, take a couple of officers and make the pack of riders turn around. They can come down Chickadee Street since it runs parallel to this road. We can add them back into the course. The riders might have to wait for a moment to get everything settled, but it won’t cause too much trouble.”

“Got it, Chief.” Clipton was all business as she ran up the hill we had all just come down. I doubted she would even been winded at the top.

Rainwater made no comment about me being there. Another of his officers was diverting the riders back on course.

“I have to get back in the race!” one man in bright orange biker shorts yelled.

“I’m sorry, sir,” the officer said. “But there has been an accident. If you want to get back on the course, you will have to go back up the road and follow the detour.”

The orange-shorts guy’s face turned bright red, which didn’t go with his ensemble at all. “This is completely messing with my time. I was making good time until you stopped me.”

“Sir, I understand you’re upset, but this is a police order.”

“I don’t care what it is. I’m in a race.”

Rainwater’s brow furrowed. “Take the detour, or one of my officers will detain you until the end of the race.”

Riders who were determined to return to the race walked their bikes back up the steep hill so they could rejoin the newly diverted course. I wasn’t among them. I was less than five miles from the end of the race, which was a great physical accomplishment for me but didn’t seem to matter now. A man was dead. A man I knew. A man who had possibly been following my every move for that last week.

A high, clear voice broke through the crowd. “Out of my way. Village mayor coming through. Step aside!”

I grimaced. I loved Grandma Daisy with my whole heart. She was my favorite person when it came right down to it, but this was the last place I wanted her to be right now. I knew her well enough to know that the moment she saw Redding, she was going to make a scene, which would only draw attention to the fact that Redding and I had had a dispute in the past. I would much rather everyone in the village forgot my connection to the private eye.

I pushed through the crowd to reach her and spotted my grandmother a few feet away, standing in front of Officer Wheaton and shaking the end of her silk bike-printed scarf at him. Wheaton glowered at her, but then again, Wheaton glowered at everyone, so that really didn’t mean anything at all.

“What on earth is going on here?” Grandma Daisy asked Wheaton. “I was cheering at the finish line, and then suddenly the stream of riders coming through slowed to a trickle, and one of the final riders said there had been an accident. I’m the mayor of this village, and I have a right to know what is going on!”

“Ms. Mayor,” Wheaton said as coldly as possible, “there has been an accident, but I’m not at liberty to say more at the moment. I will tell you that the course has been diverted to the next street over and the race has resumed. You should see riders coming in to the finish line at any moment now. I would advise you to return to your post at the end of the race.”

“Who do you think you are talking to, Wheaton?” my grandmother asked.

“Grandma!” I hurried over to her and grabbed her arm.

She blinked at me. “Violet, what are you doing here? I thought you would be on the course. Aren’t you going to finish the race?”

I squeezed her arm. “I’m not going to finish it now. Something has happened.”

“I know. I have been trying to find out what it was from Wheaton, but the officer isn’t saying a word. Where’s David? I know the police chief will tell me.” She narrowed her eyes at the young officer.

“Let’s talk privately. I can bring you up to speed, at least with what I know.”

She glared at Wheaton one last time and then let me guide her to the patch of grass where I had abandoned my bike.

“Violet, what on earth is going on? We can’t let anything ruin the Tour de Cascade Springs. We have a lot of money for the museum riding on this event. What is this about an accident? Was anyone hurt?”

I bit my lower lip. “It’s much more than an accident. A man is dead.”