Geared for the Grave (A Cycle Path Mystery) (20 page)

“W
hat are you doing here?” I asked Mother from the doorway of Sutter’s office. “You’re in Paris . . . Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame, crepes.”

“Well obviously I’m not in Paris, Evie.” Mother straightened her pink scarf and smoothed her white linen skirt, which would be a pile of wrinkles on anyone else but would not dare do such a thing on Ann Louise Bloomfield. “And I am sure there’s a very logical explanation as to why you’re painted white?”

“I was helping a friend with some repairs, and where’s Father?”

“Last I saw of the man he’d taken up with a twenty-something topless dancer from the Lido and was drinking wine, eating cheese and sketching nudes in a studio apartment on the Left Bank.”

“You . . . are so funny?” I said hopefully.

“Evie, as you know, I am never funny, and I have flown for twelve hours to get here. I couldn’t face your siblings at the moment. They don’t understand things that are not perfect, and for you, it’s simply a way of life. And I need to have the right spin on this situation before I get back to Chicago. People will talk.”

Mother stood. “Now where should I have my luggage sent? The hotels and bed and breakfasts are full due to some holiday they seem to be having. I’ll stay with you. I trust you’re up at the Grand Hotel? I do hope you insisted on a decent room with a view.”

“I’m staying with a friend in a room over his bicycle shop.”

Mother let out
the
Mother sigh. “Of course you are. I’d forgotten I wasn’t traveling with Lindsey and Trevor. I suppose
Over His Bicycle Shop
is a quaint boutique B and B. We’ll just have to make do.”

She held out her hand to Sutter. “Since my daughter has lost all sense of decorum, I am Ann Louise Bloomfield. I take it you are Bernie Fletcher, since that is the name on this little plastic plaque on the desk. You need a cleaning lady; the place is filthy.”

Sutter took Mother’s hand. “Actually, my name is—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Mother said, making her way toward the door. I followed her, mouthing
I’m sorry
to Sutter, who was enjoying this a lot more than I was. I mouthed
I’m sorry
to Molly, who looked close to tears, and to the taxi driver Mother paid to retrieve her luggage, along with a dissertation on how to not steal anything.

“You must be hungry,” I said to Mother as we headed for Main Street, trying to think of something to keep her busy. “The Yankee Rebel is just around the corner and has great fish.”

“I’d rather nap. I can have luncheon sent up to the room.”

“How long do you plan on being here?” I tried not to whimper. “You have a law practice and clients and—”

“A few weeks. I should have some things sent over from Chicago.”

“There you are,” Angelo said to me as he hurried out of Little Luxuries, two bottles of wine nestled in a bag. “I need my—”

“Later would be better,” I said to Angelo in a rush. “This is my mother—my Chicago attorney mother.” I hitched my head toward Mother, hoping Angelo would get the message that I couldn’t exactly whip out the locksmith tools right in front of her and hand them back.

“Is that right?” Angelo stilled, a slow smile sliding across his face and brightening his eyes. “
This
is your mother? I would have expected someone covered in paint.”

Mother laughed, and Angelo’s smiled widened. What the—

“I have a bunch of lawyer friends back in Detroit,” Angelo continued. “In fact, our family business couldn’t survive without them—there’s always trouble—but none of ’em are as pretty as you.” Angelo gave Mother an appreciative once-over. “Va-va-voom. Enchanté, mademoiselle.”

Va-va-voom
followed by really bad French? I waited for Mother to take out her American Express platinum card and stab him through the heart with it.

But she didn’t. Instead, she extended her hand and blushed; at least, I thought it was a blush. Mother never blushed, so it was hard to tell for sure.

“I am delighted to meet you,” she said in a pleasant voice that I’d never heard.

“Can I take you to dinner tomorrow evening?” Angelo offered. “I know this is sudden, but I’ve just moved here to the island. You and I can explore this place together. Could be fun.”

“Fun.” Mother’s eyes softened. “Yes, I think
fun
would be perfect.”

Okay, in my whole entire life I never remembered Mother using the F-word. The mob boss and the lawyer? Stabbing Angelo with the card would have been better. “I’ll take you to dinner, Mother,” I blurted.

“I already have plans with . . .”

“Angelo.”

“Angelo,” Mother repeated kind of breathily. “An enchanting gentleman from Detroit. My friends call me Carmen.”

“Who the heck’s—” A swift kick to my ankle shut me up.
Ouch!

“Seven o’clock at the Woods, Carmen? One of the taxis will take you there. I look forward to our evening together.” Angelo kissed the back of Mother’s hand and strolled off, Mother glowing, Angelo humming, and my brain in meltdown.

“About Angelo,” I started. “He’s—”

“Just what I need.”

“Oh, trust me, I really don’t think so. You have no idea what you’re getting into.”

“Evie.” Mother grabbed my shoulders and peered at me through lowered eyelids. “Your father’s taken up with a French harlot and is painting nudes. I am now Carmen; not a word of this gets back to Lindsey, Trevor or your grandfather or you’re out of the will; and I need to go shopping for something with black lace.”

Before I could get my brain to function after the black lace comment, Mother was halfway down the next block. I should let her know that the best shopping for evening wear might be up at the Grand Hotel or Mission Point, but telling Ann Louise Bloomfield, aka Carmen, where to shop was like telling Martha Stewart how to bake cookies.

“I’ve got a problem,” I said to Rudy when I walked into Rudy’s Rides. He still had on his flowered shirt, but his hair was no longer ponytailed and he had on a shoe. Yes, island life was shifting back into normalcy. He was fixing a bike at the workbench. “It’s been a day of problems.”

He winked at me. “The fish are now happy, so that particular dilemma is taken care of, and Irma made up your bed for your mother and you can sleep on the pull-out couch in the TV room down here.”

“How did you know about Mother?”

“The fudge vine. It’s the island grapevine dipped in chocolate. Heard she has a date tomorrow with that mobster guy up on the bluff who took over Bunny’s house.”

Rudy stopped working on the bike. “You should know that I might be spending some time with Irma. I’m just telling you so you don’t wonder where I am. We figure the way things are going with the Bunny Festival, we may not have much time left.” Rudy’s smile slipped a notch. “To think we lived next door all these years, and when we finally get together . . .”

“Hey, you can’t give up on me,” I said, a lump in my throat. “Thanks for helping with Mother.”

“Thanks for trying to save my behind. You’ve outdone yourself, and somehow I don’t think it was all for a promotion. We’re good friends, Evie Bloomfield.”

I bit my bottom lip, that lump in my throat getting bigger.

“Maybe you can paint up a few bikes so the place looks a little more
country vintage
instead of
old and depressed
for your mom. Think I’ll go see what Irma’s up to while I still can.”

Rudy hobbled off, his gait a little slower, his back not quite so straight, sadness sitting in my gut like a rock. I rooted around under the workbench and found the paints Rudy used for bike touch-ups but instead of making the whole bike one color, I painted swirls of blue hydrangeas with yellow centers, long stems, big green leaves and white butterflies. Hey, I could vintage with the best of ’em, and I needed some cheer at the moment.

I added a clear coat of polycrylic to set the paint so it wouldn’t run or wear off. Not exactly Rembrandt, but better than primer red, and it gave a shabby-chic feel to the shop. I got pink potted geraniums from Doud’s, put them in the basket attached to the front and parked the bike on the sidewalk.

“Looks good,” Ed said, pulling up beside me as evening settled over the island.

“Yeah, but what if it’s too late to make a difference and it’s all for nothing? Rudy’s over at Irma’s place if you want to see him.”

Ed stepped closer. “I came to see you. I’ve got a lead. Remember those pictures I bought at Dwight’s yard sale of Bunny and our local celebrity? Well, they’re gone. I had them on the dining room table at my place and they disappeared. There’s something going on with Bunny and Speed, and it’s not just cutting grass and nostalgia. I’m going to talk to him. I know he took those pictures and I want to know why.”

“He won’t admit anything, but I think it has something to do with when he was young—maybe something that Bunny had on him, and that if it got out it could hurt his fund-raising?”

Face pinched with worry, Ed raked back his graying hair. “We need to take it to Sutter. We’re running out of time, and I’m going to lose my best friend. If we just plant a seed of doubt, maybe Sutter will let Rudy off the hook. I hate this more than you know. How could this happen?”

“Unless we have proof, Sutter’s not going to listen. He knows we’re both on Rudy’s side. Let me poke around; I’m getting pretty good at it.”

“Is that bike for rent?” a woman in khaki shorts asked as she came up the sidewalk. “I have a garden party luncheon tomorrow, and if I pedaled up on this and a hat I have that matches, it would make a big splash. Bet I could even make the front page of the
Crier
. Always wanted to do that.”

Big splash,
Ed mouthed, giving me a thumbs-up. He might be retired, but he sure knew his advertising stuff. Best promotion is word of mouth.

“You can rent the bike for free,” I said. “Just tell everyone you got it here at Rudy’s Rides.”

The woman toed up the kickstand. “I can do that. Got any bikes in roses or lilacs? A lilac bike would be a great hit at the Lilac Festival. I’m not looking to win races; I want something fun to ride while I’m here, something I don’t have at home. And my sister’s into cooking, so she’d love a bike with that theme.”

“I can do that,” I gushed. “Just give me a day.”

The woman pedaled off, and Ed patted me on the back. “How good are you at painting roses and pots and pans?”

By six I had three rose bikes, a chef bike with mixing bowls, aprons and the like, a jazz bike with notes and instruments and song titles, and a smaller bike done up as Batman. Mother sauntered into the shop all smiles. I had no idea what to do with all smiles, since it had never happened before.

“What do you think about this little number?” Mother said, holding up a black dress with red lace that looked way more Carmen than Ann Louise ever did.

“Mother, how many Manhattans had you had when you picked that out?”

“If you must know, three, and I got these shoes.” She opened the box. “I’ve never had red satin shoes with rhinestones.”

And there’s a reason.

“I got something to eat at a place called the Mustang Lounge. Did you know they have a yellow propeller on the wall, I guess in case someone needs an extra, and they have great fried green beans and they play euchre. Haven’t played since college. Won ten bucks and two beers.”

“You’re hustling the locals?”

“Did I mention the three Manhattans, and hey, they started it—I just finished it. Never mess with a woman wearing Chanel. I’m going to lie down, they wore me out. Oh, and Evie dear, what happens here stays here.” Mother thought about that for a second. “Or maybe not. Maybe it’s time that Carmen visits Chicago.”

Like Chicago didn’t have enough problems. Was it something in the water? A full moon? People take a ten-minute ferry ride, land here and their inner crazy comes out.

Five people wanted to rent the rose bikes for tomorrow, meaning I had to paint more, and four wanted dibs on the jazz bike, and the chef bike got rented for the whole weekend. I promised Lily Harmon I’d paint her a Barbie bike and promised her mother I’d tone down the pointy boobs.

I checked on my own mother, who was sprawled across the bed upstairs, head drooped off one side, feet dangling over the other. I grabbed a shower, then started off for SeeFar to return Angelo’s lock-picking tools as a Speedster zoomed by, probably heading for the great carb pig-out down at Goodfellows. I agreed with Ed that there was something going on with Speed and Bunny. Ed’s pictures missing off his dining room table underscored the fact even more. So why would Speed take them? What was the big deal about him and Bunny and his bike?

I still had the lock-picking tools and Speed was not home for dinner. I told Ed I’d poke around, and now was as good a time as any. And I was so out of time.

A damp chill hung over the island, night closing in. I passed Trayser’s Trading Post and Thunderbird Gifts, both shut up tight, and I took the side alley by the Speed Shop. It was dark inside except for a blue neon bicycle glowing over the checkout desk. Outside stairs led up to the apartment. Flashlight clamped between my teeth, I slid the hook thing, then the pick, into the lock.

“What are you doing here?” Mother’s voice said from behind me.