Chapter Seven

Across from the village hall and the café was the Riverwalk; it was a three-mile-long path that followed the Niagara River in and out of Cascade Springs. It was the largest piece of green space in the downtown area and the location for all the festivals, celebrations, and events.

At the moment, the long stretch of green was dotted with race spectators, tired riders, and dozens of booths that catered to both groups. Even so, Bobby Holmes of Bobby’s Bike Shop wasn’t hard to find. He wore his ever-present Atlanta Braves ball cap. Bobby, an Atlanta transplant, frequently wore the colors of his favorite team proudly, and he spoke so fondly of his old life in the warm South that it made me wonder how he had ended up in Cascade Springs, which was under snow a minimum of four months of the year. That was a low estimate.

Not to say that the village wasn’t a good locale for a bike shop. Bicycles were a popular form of transportation in Cascade Springs, which was a small village with only a few thousand year-round residents. In the summer months and then again in January, during ice wine season, our tiny village was inundated with people from all over the globe. Bikes were the best and quickest way to travel through the narrow nineteenth-century streets congested with white carriages, cars, and pedestrians. On two wheels, a rider could swerve in and around the bewildered tourists or avoid them altogether by taking the many bike paths that cut through the village park that stood behind Charming Books and led to the famous springs.

Bobby tipped his Braves hat at me. “Violet, good to see you. How did that old cruiser bike work for you on the race? Usually those types of wheels aren’t built for these sorts of things. I can show you a sleeker and faster model that would serve you better in your next race.”

I laughed. “This was my one and only race, and I did it more for Rainwater than myself. I much prefer tooling around the village at my own pace. My old bike is perfect for that.”

He nodded. “You can’t fault a man for trying. You may change your mind someday. I’m always there when you want to upgrade.”

I laughed, not surprised that Bobby’s shop did so well. He was the affable salesman.

“If you’re not here for a new bike, is there something else I can do for you?” he asked.

“Actually there is. Could I take a peek at the race registration list?”

He arched his brow. “I’m not sure I can do that. You’re not on the committee. You’re a competitor.”

In my case, competitor was used loosely. Even if I had finished the entire race, I hadn’t been a threat to take home any medals. “It’s for my grandmother, actually. She got caught up in a village council meeting and would like me to check the registration list.”

Bobby got an odd look on his face. “If Daisy can’t trust me to manage the race …”

“Oh, it’s nothing like that.” I waved my hands. “Grandma Daisy was so very happy when you volunteered to manage the race. It was quite an undertaking on very short notice. You’ve done a wonderful job.”

His chest puffed out just a little at my compliment. “Thank you. That’s very nice to hear.”

He walked over to the race check-in table, which was no longer manned by volunteers, since the race was all but over. The leaders had rolled across the finish line well over two hours ago, and the stragglers were coming in now. Flyers and pamphlets were strewn across the table, and a laptop computer sat in the middle of the mess.

He opened his laptop and tapped on the keys. “Let me see. We have over six hundred people riding today. Your grandmother did an excellent job of getting the word out.”

I smiled. Grandma Daisy was a good salesperson too.

“Do you really want to look at all these names?”

I wrinkled my nose. I didn’t. “Not really.”

“Is there anyone in particular your grandmother wants you to find? I can do a quick search of the spreadsheet to find a particular name.” He said grandmother like that detail of my story was suspect. I would have to tell Grandma Daisy the fib I made up so she would go along with it should Bobby ask. I knew she would. She loved a good “undercover op,” as she called them.

“Joel Redding,” I said.

“Redding, Redding, Redding,” Bobby muttered to himself.

I peered over his shoulder for a peek at the spreadsheet listing all the riders’ names in alphabetical order. Bobby went through the Rs twice, and neither of us spotted Redding. Just to be safe, I suggested he use the find feature on the spreadsheet for Redding and then for Joel. Neither came up. It was surprising that of all those racers, there was not a single Joel in the bunch.

I stepped back from the screen, deep in thought. Redding could have registered under another name. After all, he was a private detective who would have experience going undercover. Perhaps he hadn’t used his real name for fear that Grandma Daisy, as the instigator of the race and the village mayor, would have spotted it and given him the boot. That made sense, but it still didn’t answer why he was dressed in street clothes for the race on such a warm day. I was wearing a biker shirt and shorts—definitely not the most flattering outfit on the planet—and I had been terribly hot during the race.

Someone cleared her throat behind me. “Violet, should I even ask what you’re doing over here?”

I jumped back from the computer as if I’d been caught with my hand in the cookie jar. “Hey, Clipton.” I knew my voice was much higher than it normally would be.

Bobby’s thick eyebrows disappeared under the brim of his hat. “Violet just asked to see the registration list. She said Daisy was asking about a certain rider.”

Clipton smiled. “I’m sure she did. I’m going to need a printout of that list, Bobby, with names, addresses, and phone numbers. The works.”

The bike shop owner bristled and looked from Clipton to me and back again. “Why? I don’t see any reason why you would need that. Unless something has happened. I heard that one of the riders crashed near the end of the race. Is that what this is all about?” He looked to me for the answer.

Clipton cocked her head and reminded me of a curious cocker spaniel. “I’m surprised that Miss Waverly didn’t tell you about the accident. A man by the name of Joel Redding was killed on the course.”

Bobby’s head whipped around in my direction. “That’s why you asked me if Joel Redding was registered?”

Busted.

“Grandma Daisy did want to know for the reason you said.” I shot Clipton a look. “I didn’t tell you about his death because I didn’t know if the police wanted to make it public yet.”

“Nice save,” Clipton muttered.

I scowled at her.

She folded his arms. “So what was the verdict? Was he registered?”

“We couldn’t find his name,” Bobby said.

“That doesn’t mean he wasn’t riding under an alias,” Clipton said.

I wasn’t the least bit surprised that Clipton came to the same conclusion I had.

The police officer studied Bobby for a long moment. Clipton could have a penetrating stare when she wanted to. “At least twenty riders and just as many spectators saw the accident and heard that a man had died. How did you not know about the death?”

“I guess I wasn’t at the Riverwalk when that group came in.” His eyes flicked back and forth as if he were looking for someone to save him.

Bobby was everyone’s good-time guy. I couldn’t remember ever seeing him so jittery. Was he hiding something?

“Where were you?” Clipton tried to sound casual.

He wouldn’t meet her eyes. “I had to run back to the shop for some parts to repair some of the bikes. That took about an hour. Maybe my assistant heard something. I haven’t been able to speak to her since I got back.”

“Who’s your assistant?” Clipton asked.

“Jo Fitzgerald.”

I scanned the area, but I didn’t see Jo. I was about to ask where she was when Clipton beat me to it.

“Where’s Jo now?” Clipton asked.

“I don’t know.” Bobby licked his lips. “It seems she’s wandered off. She does that at times.”

“She doesn’t sound like she’s a great employee.” Clipton cocked her head in the other direction. “I want to talk to Jo,” Clipton said, and then she turned to me. “If you see her first, tell her that. I assume you will be looking for her now.”

I held up my hands in innocence. “Why do you assume that?”

She had the humor enough to laugh. “Before I go, Bobby, I need a list of all the registered riders.”

He licked his lips. “Don’t you need a warrant to take that?”

“This is a public village event. You don’t have any property rights to that information, now, do you?”

His forehead broke out in a sweat. “You can have it. I don’t want anything to do with this mess. I’m sorry that a man is dead, but keep me out of it. I don’t know anything about it.”

“Really?” Clipton almost cooed. “Then why was he riding a bike from your shop?”

The color drained from Bobby’s face.