Читать книгу Glory Be! - Ron/Janet Benrey - Страница 11

The blue clapboard Victorian on Front Street was a smaller house than Rafe had wanted. It had only one full bathroom and a single-car garage, and cost half-again more than he had planned to spend, thanks to its stunning view of Albemarle Sound. But his teenage daughter, Kate, had loved the “gingerbread-detailed charmer” from the instant she saw its picture pinned up in the front window of the Realtor’s. That had been enough to sway Rafe.

Every light in the house was turned on when Rafe maneuvered his Corvette into the driveway—a gentle protest by Kate that he had left home before sunup and was returning fourteen hours later. A small-town policeman’s lot included long days, but Rafe usually managed to eat breakfast and supper at home. Today, the pranks had gotten in the way.

He found her in the living room watching a cheerleading DVD. He moved behind her and kissed the top of her head just as a blond cheerleader on the TV screen tumbled to the ground from the top of a three-layer pyramid of fellow cheerleaders.

“Oooh, that’s gotta hurt,” Kate said.

“Is this some sort of training video? Teaching you about safety, I hope.”

“Uh-uh. It’s an hour of cheerleading goofs and bloopers. Funny stuff.”

“Not for the gals who hit the ground hard. Or their parents.” Rafe came around to the front of the sofa and sat down next to Kate. She was fifteen, with a tall, long-legged, athletic build and a face that was pretty and intelligent at the same time. She had big brown eyes, fine features and shoulder-length reddish-brown hair. Rafe’s eyes flicked toward the framed photograph atop a bookcase. Kate was becoming more like her mother with every passing day.

“I’m on the freshman cheerleader squad, remember?” Kate said. “No jumps or stunts or pyramids.”

“For which I am exceptionally grateful.”

She used the remote to turn off the TV. “Anything interesting happen today?”

He grinned and tapped the end of her nose. “A good try, but I’m sure that every kid in town knows about the Volkswagen.”

She countered by tapping his nose. “How was choir practice? Anything unusual happen?”

“Wow. You even know about the fight. I’m impressed—the power of cell phones in the hands of teenagers is awesome.”

Rafe felt sure that she cracked a smile.

“I didn’t arrest anyone tonight,” he said, “but I will if there are any more wrestling matches at church. We actually had a pretty good rehearsal after the hotheads cooled down.”

Kate nodded.

“My theory,” he said, “is that the epidemic of pranks in Glory has put lots of people on edge.”

Kate focused her eyes on the remote control in her lap.

“Let’s go off the record,” he said. “I want to send a message to the student who’s planning the gags. I presume you know who’s in charge, since you know everything about everyone under the age of twenty-one within a radius of fifty miles.”

“Why assume a kid is responsible?”

“Because I don’t know any adults who could convince the high school football team to move a Volkswagen Beetle from a parking lot to a porch.”

“It’s not that simple….” She finished the sentence with a shrug.

“No?”

“There isn’t a single student in charge—it’s more of a committee.”

“Committees have chairpersons.”

“This one has a book.”

“A book…?”

“Great Practical Jokes of the 1950s and 1960s. It’s an antique, published way back in 1970. Kids are passing it around Glory High like the baton in a relay race. Whoever has the book must do one of the jokes. Then he or she gives the book to someone else who has the nerve to do another one.”

“Specifically, a high school student who also supports the contemporary service at Glory Community Church?”

“Well, duh!”

“Do you have to attend our church to receive the book?”

“Nope. You just have to know what kind of music you prefer.”

“Do I have to ask which side you’re on?”

“I think organ chords are icky. They make me think of old horror movies. Anyway, I like to hear drums when I listen to music, and they never have drums in a traditional service.”

“Never?”

“Never!” She added a definitive shake of her head.

Rafe thought about it and realized that Kate might be right. He had seen many kinds of musical instruments played at traditional church services—violins, cellos, trumpets, guitars, flutes, trombones, pianos, bells, even an accordion—but never a full drum set. Those who favored drum-accompanied music would probably prefer a contemporary service. Of course, Kate also seemed to have more than a passing interest in the seventeen-year-old male drummer who played at Glory Community every Sunday.

“Tell me more about this antique book,” he said.

“It’s incredibly cool…” she began, and then realized her mistake.

“I get it. The book was passed to you.”

“No comment.”

“I assume that means you committed a prank.”

Kate fiddled with the remote in her hands. “You’ll never get me to confess to anything.”

“Then let me play detective. You don’t know much about cars, so you wouldn’t come up with the idea of moving a Volkswagen. You’re too smart—and I think too compassionate—to risk killing a fish. You don’t have easy access to the old clothing placed on Moira McGregor. But you do have a fancy computer, several graphics programs and a good ink-jet printer. I think you created the phony traffic ticket found dangling from Chief Porter’s radio antenna. In fact, the more I think about it the more sense it makes. You weren’t taking much risk marching into the parking lot behind Police Headquarters and affixing said ticket. If anyone spotted you, you could simply say you left something in my ’Vette.”

“I admit to nothing.”

“The clincher is the spelling error.”

Kate peered at him quizzically.

“You wrote ‘trafficing,’ without the k. The correct spelling is trafficking. We both know that spelling is your weakest subject.”

Kate pushed a lock of hair away from her face but said nothing. Rafe pressed on. “Where did the book come from? Don’t try to tell me it’s on loan from the school library.”

“Well, I don’t know this for a total fact, but I think the book came from Sam Lange’s bookstore.”

Rafe grunted. The Glory Book Nook was the logical source for an “antique” book. Although Sam sold both new and used books, he seemed to make more money from the old volumes on his shelves. He specialized in quirky topics and did a thriving Internet business with book collectors.

“Okay, I’ll do some more detecting. Jake Moore, a junior at Glory High, works three afternoons a week and all day Saturday at the Book Nook, so he had the means to acquire the book in question. Jake is also a member of the church choir, which gives him a motive…except…”

“Except what?”

“Jake doesn’t like the contemporary service. He’s supposed to be on the same side as Lily Kirk. So he can’t be involved.”

“Right.”

“Except…”

“Now what?”

“That ‘right’ you just spoke sounded suspicious. It’s got me thinking.”

“About what?”

“About how devilishly clever your side is.” He poked at her ribs. “Jake Moore is an undercover agent. You placed a spy in the opposition’s camp.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” she said airily.

“Okay, then let’s talk about the book some more. How nasty do the collected pranks get?”

“Well, the book shows you how to do lots of things that go ‘bang.’ A couple of guys were interested, but these days you can’t go to a drugstore and buy the ingredients to make homemade explosives.”

“And the people said, ‘Amen!’”

“Some of the pranks are impossibly gross. Itching powder, stink bombs and paper bags filled with horse manure.”

“I know that one! You put the paper bag on the victim’s porch, set fire to the top of the bag and ring the bell. Most people put out the fire by stomping on the bag.”

Kate grimaced. “That’s awful. I don’t like jokes that need to be cleaned up with a shovel. Pranks should make people laugh.”

“Like a phony parking ticket presented to the chief of police?”

“That sounds funny to me.”

“Actually, the Chief wasn’t amused in any way, shape or form. He offered to shoot the person responsible.”

Kate sat up straight. “Are we finished talking about practical jokes?”

“Do you have another topic in mind?”

“I’ve been told that you were checking out Emma McCall this morning at The Scottish Captain.”

“Checking her out?”

“Watching her with more than professional interest.”

“Who told you that?”

“You were also seen talking with her tonight at church.”

Rafe felt his eyebrows rise. Who, he wondered, was Kate’s source of information? He tried to remember if Jake Moore was also a member of the Glory Gremlins. He was certainly large enough to play football.

“And your point is?” Rafe said.

“You are considered absolutely awesome, while everyone knows that she’s a total loser. Think carefully before you do anything that might ruin your reputation.”

Rafe didn’t want to laugh aloud, but he couldn’t stop himself.

“The poppers are magnificent here,” Lily said, “I recommend them highly. I believe they’re homemade.”

Emma knew better. Dan’s Pizza Deluxe undoubtedly bought frozen, machine-made poppers, ten-pounds at a time, but why shatter Lily’s illusions or begin a pointless discussion about the tawdry secrets of cheap restaurants?

Emma scanned the menu quickly. It seemed late for deep-fried jalapeño peppers stuffed with cream cheese, but a greasy pizza might be even less digestible. And more expensive. She guessed that Lily was stretching a tight budget to pay for their impromptu after-rehearsal snack.

“Why don’t we share an order of poppers?” Emma said.

“That’s a grand idea.” Lily sounded relieved as she caught the waitress’s attention. “One order of poppers and two iced teas.”

Emma waited patiently for Lily to begin the conversation—almost certainly a long-winded recruiting speech encouraging Emma to become active in the ongoing church battle. Why couldn’t people understand that she didn’t care enough about the issue to take sides? Why couldn’t they simply leave her alone?

Emma had been walking to her Volvo when Lily suddenly appeared at her side. “We don’t know each other very well, Mrs. McCall, but I have a question that I must ask you.”

Emma didn’t point out that McCall was her maiden name and she had abandoned the “Mrs.” label when she moved to Glory. She simply said, “A question? About what?”

“The rain may begin again at any minute. Why don’t we go for quick snack? My treat, of course.” Lily gestured toward an old Ford Taurus sedan.

Reluctantly, Emma dropped her car keys into her purse. She had been awake since four-thirty and wanted to get to bed, but Lily possessed a peculiar authority—a strange presence—that compelled Emma to agree. She obediently followed the woman to the well-cared-for silver Ford and opened the passenger’s door. She paid little attention to the elderly vehicle until she slid past the high side bolsters on her bucket seat.

This feels like a sports car seat.

Emma looked around. Enough light spilled into the car from the lampposts in the church’s parking lot to see that the Taurus had black-leather interior and a five-speed manual transmission. Lily pushed the clutch pedal and worked the ignition key. The engine roared to life and settled into a thrumming idle.

Lily revved the engine and turned to Emma. “This is my baby, my one luxury. She’s a Taurus SHO, one of the first built in 1989. ‘SHO’ stands for super high output. There’s a three-liter Yamaha V6 under the hood. Top speed is supposed to be 143 miles per hour, but I’ve never had her above 120.”

Emma pulled her seat belt tight as Lily accelerated along King Street.

“I enjoy life in the fast lane,” Lily said, with a giggle, as she accelerated again. “But only at night when most of the cops in town are asleep.” She braked hard, downshifted and then made a screeching right turn onto Main Street.

Emma watched the dark road whiz past. Beyond Glory’s town limits, Main Street became State Route 34A, which ran north to Route 17 then on to Elizabeth City, some twenty miles away. Dan’s Pizza Deluxe was about a mile up the road. Halfway there, Lily tooted her car’s horn.

“What’s that for?” Emma had asked.

“I like to give the animals a fair warning,” Lily had said. “A honk now and then gives the raccoons and deer a chance to get out of our way.” Lily patted Emma’s hand. “You won’t tell anybody, will you?”

“Tell them what?”

“About my speeding and horn blowing.” Lily had laughed. “It’s my little secret. Only a few of my friends know. Most people in Glory think I’m a mild-mannered retired librarian who never drives faster than fifty-five miles per hour.”

Emma joined in the laughter. “Your little secret is safe with me.”

The waitress brought their drinks. She was a slender young woman with dyed red hair and a sour expression that Emma doubted did much to encourage food sales. “Your poppers will be out in a minute.”

Lily waited until they were alone before she said, “I appreciate your willingness to take time away from The Scottish Captain to meet with me. I’ve been told that innkeepers are on duty twenty-four hours a day.”

“Well, some days are longer than others,” Emma replied.

This one, for example.

Lily pressed on, “I’ve never stayed at a bed-and-breakfast, so I can only guess how much work is involved. Do your guests expect you to be on call throughout the day?”

Emma tried to read Lily’s face. She seemed genuinely interested in the mechanics of running a B and B.

“I try to be available when guests are up and about. My housekeeper holds down the fort two or three afternoons a week so that I can run errands. Today, for example, I had an appointment in Norfolk. Tomorrow, I have to drive to Elizabeth City to interview a new food supplier.”

“Ah.” Lily’s face brightened. “Then it is likely I will see you again tomorrow evening.”

“Tomorrow evening?” Emma felt bewildered by Lily’s sudden change of tack.

“I’ll be a guest at the next meeting of the Writing for Glory Club.”

“Now I understand,” Emma said. The local writer’s club, chaired by Sara Knoll met twice a month—the first and third Thursdays—at The Scottish Captain. “Are you a writer?”

“Oh, no. Sara Knoll invited me to hear her talk about her work in progress. We’ve become good friends during the past few months. She’s been exceptionally generous with her computer expertise.” Lily peered at Emma. “You do know that Ms. Knoll has authored more than a dozen published books.”

“Of course.” Everyone who attended Glory Community Church knew that Sara wrote the popular Martha Does It series of how-to books for women on subjects that ranged from household hints to electrical wiring to setting up a computer network. “Come a few minutes early and browse around the Captain. I’m proud of the renovations and redecorating I’ve done.”

“Renovations?” Lily said sharply. “Have you done any major reconstruction?”

“Our kitchen is new and so are the guest bathrooms. The six guest bedrooms have new wallpaper and carpeting.”

“Did you make any structural changes to the first floor?”

“Nothing significant. Do you know the Captain?”

“It’s been many years since I’ve been inside.” Lily stared into space for several seconds. “I may accept your kind offer to browse around—assuming of course that I survive those miserable pranksters.”

Emma took a sip of iced tea.

Here it comes. A sales pitch to join her “side.”

But Lily surprised Emma. She, too, began to sip her tea and said nothing more until the waitress arrived with a platter of poppers and two smaller plates.

“They look especially good tonight.” Lily slid a popper onto her plate. “I hope you enjoy them.”

The poppers provided a second surprise for Emma. They were baked rather than fried and didn’t look mass-produced. She sliced one into thirds and tasted a piece.

“These are superb,” she said. “They are homemade.”

“Dave is an extraordinary cook. He used to be the hors d’oeuvre chef at the Hamilton House Hotel in New York City. He’s another big-city native who moved to Glory.”

Emma felt mildly annoyed at the way Lily emphasized “another.” She responded with, “I believe you wanted to ask me a question.”

Lily flushed slightly. “Yes, although I’ve been doing my best to avoid it.” She sighed. “I’d best dive right in. I couldn’t help notice you speaking with Rafe Neilson at the church this evening. Did you by any chance discuss the wave of pranks sweeping Glory?”

“Among other things,” Emma said, in a harsher tone than she meant to.

Lily’s expression grew tense. “I’m not trying to pry into your personal relationships, Mrs. McCall. I have a reason for asking.”

Emma paused to regain her composure. “We did talk about the pranks. A total of four have been committed. I became the…subject of the fourth practical joke this morning.”

“So I heard. The ancient ‘Beetle on the porch’ gag.” Lily carefully set her knife and fork down on her plate. “Does he know whether any of the mischief was mean-spirited? Does the so-called ‘Phantom Avenger’ wish to cause physical harm to his victims?”

“The four pranks were silly attacks on property, not people.” Emma abruptly pictured a flock of pigeons settling on the real Lily Kirk. She swallowed a snigger. “Rafe doesn’t see any criminal intent in what was done.”

“He told you that?”

“Those are his words.”

Lily nodded slowly. “That makes me feel much better. You see, earlier this evening a pickup truck nearly pushed me off the road.”

“My goodness!” Emma set her own fork down. “When? Where?”

“Two miles north on State Route 34A. About a quarter to seven. I’d driven to an industrial supply shop in Elizabeth City to buy a tube of the glue I use to repair books and I was racing through the rain to be on time for choir practice.” Lily hesitated, as if she were reluctant to relive the memory.

“Go on.” Emma thought back to earlier that evening. At a quarter to seven she’d been on the same road, but had been farther away from town.

“All at once I saw a huge grill in my rearview mirror. The truck actually tapped me—you can see the dent in the back bumper. I tromped on the gas and got out of there. I didn’t see the truck after that.”

“Do you think the driver hit you on purpose?”

“My first thought was that a prankster was trying to frighten me. But it may have been nothing more than an exuberant teenager who got careless while driving his father’s pickup truck.”

“Did you tell the police?”

“I intended to talk to Rafe after choir practice. But now I don’t dare bother him—not after the contretemps at church this evening.”

Emma needed a moment to remember that contretemps meant quarrel. “A quarrel in the choir is one thing. But if someone tried to harm you…I think you should talk to Rafe. He seems reasonable.”

“Most women in Glory find him more than reasonable,” Lily smiled. “We don’t have an abundance of thirty-eight-year-old, good-looking single men in Glory.” She shook her head. “No. This time I won’t talk to Rafe. A dent in my back bumper doesn’t prove anything. And since the pranks are essentially harmless, Rafe is likely to conclude I’m a hysterical older woman who suffers from a touch of paranoia.”

Emma chewed on a piece of popper and made a mental note to talk to Dave about providing poppers—and other appetizers—to the Scottish Captain. She also wondered what she should do about the fear she heard in Lily’s voice.