Chapter 13
I pointed the spray head of the watering can over one of the window boxes in front of Mac’s Bikes. The pink, white, and red geraniums were healthy and blooming, and pale-green vinca trailed prettily over the edges of the red boxes, which themselves stood out against the blue paint on the walls. My Open flag flapped in the continuing strong breeze. I’d set up and locked together an array of display bikes next to the bike rack. Watering was the last item on my opening checklist, at least during the warmer months, a list I followed faithfully.
But it was now after nine o’clock. Where was Orlean? She was never late and rarely absent. I’d checked my texts. My mechanic hadn’t written or called. At least I had Edwin coming in an hour or so. Between us, we could probably handle the business of the day. Still, I hoped Orlean was all right.
I watered the last box and headed inside, propping open the door, as I did on nice days like this one, and gave one more glance up and down Main Street for signs of my taciturn employee.
Instead of spotting her, I gazed at the backs of a couple who peered into the front windows of Cape King Liquor, Zane’s store, which was situated nearly directly across the wide street from my shop. Even though I’d met Sita and Carl only once, and separately, I was pretty sure that was them over there. They stood arm in arm. She pointed to something. He faced her, laughing, and kissed the top of her head.
They appeared at ease and happy. If one or both had killed Mr. Byrne, it didn’t seem to be disrupting their morning. Also, I had to stop calling him that, except it was hard to think of him as Bruce. I’d never even heard his first name while I was a student. What ninth-grader does?
I stepped all the way inside my shop. I didn’t want the couple to turn and spot me at this moment. Maybe I should have called out to them, see if I could have engaged one or both in conversation. I might be able to learn something.
Nah. I wasn’t prepared with questions and didn’t feel like engaging in the investigation with people who might be killers. Instead, I straightened a few folded shirts. Checked the list of rentals due in by four that afternoon. Noticed the supply of helmets was running low and jotted down a note to order more.
I was about to wade into the sheaf of repair slips when a text dinged on my phone. I glanced at Orlean’s name and groaned. This wasn’t going to be good.
Srry. Wicked bad stmch flu or food poisning. CU tmrw.
The poor thing. Stomach upsets were the worst. I wrote back.
Don’t worry about work. Focus on getting better.
Maybe I should dive into the first bike waiting for a tune-up or getting a flat tire fixed. I decided to leave that kind of work for Edwin. I knew he preferred it to retail, and once I got my hands greasy, I wouldn’t be able to easily ring up sales or help our rental customers.
Two fit-looking women came in and approached me where I’d settled on a stool behind the counter.
“Our tandem is due back today,” one began, her blue eyes brilliant in a tanned face.
“But we wondered if we could extend the rental through Sunday,” the taller one said.
The first woman tucked her arm through the other’s. “With the rain gone, we’ve splurged and extended our condo rental.”
“I don’t blame you.” I smiled. “Let me check the rental book.” I’d left it on the counter and now scanned the list. “That should be fine. We have one reserved for this afternoon, but we have several. What was the name?”
The petite one gave me a hyphenated last name. At the same time, she pointed at the book with her left hand, which bore an etched gold band. “That’s us.”
“Thank you,” I said. “Enjoy the rest of your week.”
The taller of the two glanced around and lowered her voice. “What’s up with the police tape blocking the door to the pub? We tried to go there for dinner last night.”
I’d seen the yellow tape on my strolling commute to work an hour ago, a sad reminder of the tragedy I’d witnessed inside.
“Unfortunately, a man was found dead in the Rusty Anchor yesterday,” I said. “I believe the police are still investigating.”
“Do you know what happened?” the short one asked with eyes wide.
“No, but he was apparently in his late sixties.” I didn’t mind a little redirection if it would help Westham’s reputation as a safe tourist destination. Which it was. Mostly.
“It’s what happens when you get old.” The tall one gave her head a slow shake. “That’s why we try to stay active and healthy.”
Thinking Bruce had had a heart attack or a stroke seemed to satisfy the couple. Upper sixties wasn’t really that old these days, but I didn’t push back. Active and healthy was always a good thing.