I checked my phone again. It was past ten-thirty and Cody’s band was breaking down their gear and packing up. I was restless. I was nervous. Our stand was closed for the day, the equipment turned off and the tent sealed.
Mom had taken off earlier to listen to the band with Donna, Andy and my nephews. Aubrey had sat at the corner of the stage the entire time, casting admiring looks at Keith as he played the keyboard. Cody was the bassist and he wasn’t half-bad. Not that I know anything about music. I barely recognized the tunes they played. We’re from different generations.
‘Maggie?’
I turned. It was Brad.
‘Is everything OK?’ He asked. ‘You look upset.’
‘No.’ I smiled and ran a hand through my hair. ‘Did you find out anything about Willow Willoughby or anything new on Lisa’s murder?’
He shook his head. ‘I’ve been tied up most of the day.’ Brad checked his watch. ‘I’m heading back to the paper now. We’re running a special edition tomorrow. Lots of human interest stories, stories on the vendors, plenty of pics. It’s good for business.’ He waved his hand around the square. ‘Most of these vendors are Table Rock Reader advertisers.’
‘I get it.’
He grabbed my hand. ‘I’m sorry we didn’t get a chance to hook up today.’
His electric-blue eyes buzzed their way under my skin and I gulped. ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Sorry about that.’
‘We still on for tomorrow? We could catch a bite to eat.’
I told him that would be nice and he left to file his stories. Maybe I should have told him about Cody Ryan and his threat to kill me but part of me was still feeling very competitive with Brad Smith the reporter. I wanted to be the one to solve this crime, not him or the police.
I checked my phone display once more: ten forty-five. If Cody was planning to kill me he was already behind schedule.
Not that I was complaining.
I edged up closer to the stage and settled against a sycamore. Cody was joking with his bandmates. He clapped a buddy on the back then hoisted his amp and guitar. The bass was in a gig bag that he strung over his shoulder. He headed toward the public parking lot.
I glanced around. There was no sign of Andy, Mom or any of my friends. Where had Aubrey disappeared to? Had she left with Keith? And where the devil was Detective Highsmith? Probably making out somewhere with VV.
Didn’t anybody care what Cody Ryan was up to? Didn’t anybody care that he had his sights set on me? That I was going to be his next victim? I ran back to my tent and retrieved my Schwinn. The Hitching Post’s tent was dark and quiet. Apparently Clive and Johnny hadn’t stuck around for the music.
I should have left early too. If I’d been smart I’d have gone home before dark, when there were still plenty of people around. And I should have insisted on a police escort. I walked the bike to the curb. I watched Cody as he lowered his equipment into the back of his Corvette. He gazed toward the town square. I dropped my head so he wouldn’t see me looking at him. A moment later, I glanced up and saw the sports car’s brake lights throb red. He was leaving.
I hopped on my bike, determined to see where he was going and what he was up to. The Miller Transport truck had finally gone and I hoped that meant Brian had finally headed back home to Phoenix. I didn’t need my dead ex-husband hanging around mucking up my life. I seemed to have enough mucker-uppers around here.
The car turned the corner and I redoubled my efforts. What if I lost him? I took the corner at speed and shook my fist at a honking car that blazed past me. I wondered again where Cody was heading. Maybe he was going to my apartment. Maybe he was going to surprise me. Maybe he was hoping to murder me in my sleep!
In that case, there was no real hurry.
Several cars ran up and down the street. Cody turned right. I hugged the curb and followed. But when I turned the corner it was to discover that the Corvette had disappeared. I cursed my luck and banged my hands on the handlebars. Pain was my reward.
I took a couple of minutes to catch my breath and let my quivering thighs recover, then turned around and pedaled back the way I’d come. I wanted to stop back at the café before heading home to be sure Mom had locked up the cash drawer and added the money from the tent’s cash box to the floor safe.
A big truck came lurching out of a dark alleyway and I veered out of its path. I cursed as it roared ahead in a puffy cloud of smelly diesel fuel. The side of the truck read Miller Transport.
Of course. It was my idiot dead ex-husband.
I shot across the street to cut Brian off and give him a piece of my mind when a second car rocketed around the corner. It was a yellow Corvette and it was heading straight for me!
A Buick coming the opposite way honked, slammed on its brakes and bounced to a stop. I drove the Schwinn toward the sidewalk, trying to avoid being run over by the sports car or squeezed between oncoming cars. The tire bounced sharply against the curb. The bike wobbled madly despite my best efforts and I came to a stop in the alcove of a small shop. I fell over, landing on my hip, and winced in pain.
I heard steps running toward me and struggled to right myself, but between the pain and the fact that one of my legs had gone through the spokes of the front tire, I wasn’t moving fast enough.
Cody could finish me off right here. Right in front of Iggy’s Aquarium and Reptile Emporium, I noted through my pain-induced tears.
‘Are you all right?’
I threw my hands over my head to ward off blows.
‘Ms Miller? Are you all right?’
I slowly lowered my arms and squinted up. My head was pressed against the brick. ‘D-Detective Highsmith?’
He held out his hand.
I rubbed the back of my head. It hurt like the dickens but at least I didn’t spot any blood on my hands. ‘What are you doing here? How did you get here?’
Detective Highsmith deftly extracted my leg from my wheel. ‘We’d left the square and were heading back to Veronica’s place,’ he nodded toward the Trans Am, ‘when we saw you lose control of your bike.’
I noticed Veronica sitting placidly inside powdering her nose. I guess she wasn’t in a hurry to rush out and make sure I was unharmed. I allowed Highsmith to help me to me feet. Thankfully, I could still stand. I wasn’t dead and nothing appeared to be broken.
He peered into my eyes. ‘Have you been drinking, Ms Miller?’
I swatted his hand away. ‘No, I have not been drinking!’
‘Is everything OK here?’ Cody popped up beside Highsmith, panting.
‘Yeah. Ms Miller took a spill, is all.’ Highsmith propped up my bike and gave it a shake. ‘The bike looks OK.’ He looked at me more closely.
Was he going to kiss me again?
A chill raced up my arms and tingled my lips.
‘You look OK, too,’ Highsmith said, his M&Ms running up and down my body. ‘You think you need a doctor?’
‘No,’ I said, finally coming to my senses and glaring at Cody. ‘What I need is a policeman.’ I pointed my finger at the young man. ‘I want you to arrest this punk for trying to murder me!’
‘Murder you?’ Cody’s eyes flew wide open and he ran his fingers through the sides of his scalp. ‘Are you crazy?’ He turned to Highsmith. ‘Is she crazy?’
‘I’ll show you who’s crazy.’ I grabbed Detective Highsmith’s arm. ‘I overheard Cody Ryan talking, no, plotting,’ I said, ‘to murder me tonight.’
Highsmith plucked my fingers from his arm. ‘Please, Ms Miller. It’s been a long day. I’d like to enjoy the rest of the night, if you don’t mind.’
‘I do mind, Detective. This punk specifically said he was going to take care of me,’ I thumped my chest, ‘Maggie Miller. Tonight.’
Cody stuffed his hands in his front pockets and squinted his eyes at me. ‘When exactly did I say this?’
‘This afternoon at the edge of the town square. I saw you,’ I answered smugly, ‘talking to some orangutan-looking man. Saying how he’d get his money and you’d take care,’ I said, throwing a pair of air quotes around my words, ‘of Miller tonight.’ I nodded sharply to put an exclamation point to my news. ‘Detective,’ I commanded, feeling quite good despite the fact that I’d recently gone flying up a cement curb and crashed into a brick wall with my Schwinn, ‘arrest this man!’
Cody scratched beside his ear. ‘Oh,’ he said finally. ‘Miller.’
‘That’s right. What are you waiting for?’ I said to Detective Highsmith.
‘Hank Miller.’ Cody smiled. ‘What made you think I was going to murder him?’
‘Not him,’ I said, testily. ‘Me. Wait, him?’ I glared suspiciously at Cody. Was he trying to rattle me? Confuse me? Because if he was, it was working.
Cody nodded. ‘Yeah, we’d hired his jazz band to play at our wedding reception but Sabrina changed her mind at the last minute.’ The kid shrugged Detective Highsmith’s way. ‘Said she wanted an oldies band. You know.’ He turned to me. What? Did he think I was ancient? ‘Sixties pop music. So I hired Morris and the Moonglows.’
My mouth went dry.
Highsmith cracked a smile. ‘Hey, yeah. Morris McNulty and his band. I’ve heard those guys. They’re good.’
Cody glanced at me, then at his vehicle, which rested sideways in the street. ‘Can I go now?’
Highsmith nodded.
‘Thanks.’ Cody stepped off the curb.
‘No, wait!’ I cried. ‘What about what just happened? He tried to kill me. Practically ran me over!’ I pulled Highsmith’s sleeve. ‘You saw him!’
Highsmith shook his head. ‘You were driving on the wrong side of the road, Ms Miller. I saw you, remember? In fact, you were jaybiking.’
Jaybiking? Was that even a thing? ‘And that’s the second time he’s tried to kill me.’
‘What?’ Cody’s eyes widened. ‘Come on, that’s crazy. Do I have to listen to this?’ His eyes pleaded with the detective. ‘Why would I do that?’
‘You were aiming that flashy yellow sports car right at me!’ I argued.
‘My foot got stuck on the gas pedal, Mark,’ Cody said looking rather sheepish, ‘between the pedal and the mat. Besides,’ he added, ‘you saw her, she was driving like a manic – jaybiking!’ He folded his arms across his chest. ‘She doesn’t even have a headlight on that thing. I’ll bet that’s illegal.’
I took a step back. Jaybiking wasn’t even a real thing and already I’d heard it twice and used against me in the space of minutes. My world was being rocked. I was certain that Cody had tried to run me down. ‘Please, I know you tried to kill me. What a good plan too, right in the middle of the street. Everybody would think it had been an accident.’ I pointed at Highsmith. ‘Even the police would be your witness. The perfect crime!’
‘Why?’ Cody demanded.
‘Because,’ I explained for the detective’s benefit, ‘you killed Lisa Willoughby—’
‘The cake lady?’
‘And you figured out that I was on to you.’ I nodded sharply. Huh. So there. ‘Go ahead, Detective,’ I pointed at Cody, ‘ask him where he was on the morning that Lisa was murdered.’
Highsmith looked amused. ‘I don’t have to.’
I slatted my eyes at him. ‘Why not?’
VV yelled from the car, demanding to know if Highsmith was going to be much longer. He looked back and held up a finger, signaling he’d be a minute longer. I didn’t take that as a good sign. At least, not for me. Highsmith turned my way. ‘Because I know where Cody was.’
‘You do?’ My voice trembled.
The detective nodded. ‘I do.’ He glanced at the young man. ‘Cody was with me, playing football.’
‘Football?’ I squeaked. I think it was me. Could’ve been a mouse.
The detective bobbed his chin. ‘Football. Every Tuesday morning we play touch football over at Honicker Park.’
My hands and my heart clenched up. ‘How do you know he was there the whole time?’ I gave Cody a dirty look. ‘He could have sneaked away. Murdered Lisa. Then come back again.’
Highsmith sighed. ‘Because he’s the quarterback on my team, Ms Miller.’
Cody shot me a smug look. I guess I couldn’t blame him. I could’ve slugged him but I couldn’t blame him. ‘But, still, don’t you think—’
Highsmith held up a palm and cut me off. ‘I think I’d notice if my quarterback was missing.’
I chewed on my lip. The man had a good point. He might not be the world’s greatest detective but I had to agree that there wasn’t much chance of him not noticing that his quarterback had gone missing.
‘Look,’ said Highsmith, ‘tomorrow is his wedding. Give the kid a break, Ms Miller.’
I reached for my bicycle. ‘Fine,’ I said. ‘But if he murders me in my sleep I’m coming back to haunt you.’ I climbed on the saddle. ‘And VV Vargas.’ Especially VV Vargas, I thought as I pedaled slowly away.
OK, I was back to square one. And square one contained Houston Willoughby and Irwin Acheson. One or both of them had to be the killer.