Skating Over the Line Read Online Free PDF Page B

most considerate criminal I’d ever heard of.
    Not sure what else to do, I steered my car toward the nearest farmhouse. Who knows, I thought, maybe the farmer who owns the place knows something. It was worth checking out. Besides, it was the only lead I had.

 
    Five
    Several hours later, I’d learned that Mr. Toberman kept a loaded shotgun next to him while driving his tractor, that Mrs. Moore wanted to give the pyromaniac a medal for removing a town eyesore, and that Alan Schmitt thought aliens had landed in his field and caused the explosion. A truly productive afternoon.
    Back in town, I steered my car into a parking spot outside Something’s Brewing, Indian Falls’s answer to Starbucks. The store was located around the corner from the sheriff’s office, but my need for a pick-me-up outweighed my sense of self-preservation.
    Something’s Brewing was run by a guy named Sinbad Smith. Sinbad was a big Egyptian man who’d set up shop here just after I’d hightailed it to the big city. Unlike many outsiders’ business ventures, Sinbad’s store was an instant success. I was guessing it was due more to the high-octane nature of his coffee than to Sinbad’s personality. The man was kind of pushy, but his coffeemaker was first-rate. When a person needed a caffeine fix, that was all that mattered.
    I stepped into Something’s Brewing and inhaled deeply. There’s nothing like the smell of fresh coffee, especially in a homey environment. Sinbad’s shop was decorated a lot like a hunting lodge. Three small wooden tables with chairs were situated around the small storefront window, and a brown leather sofa and two chairs were arranged around an unlit fireplace. Over the fireplace hung a large deer head. The deer head made my flesh creep, but not enough to keep me away. The two teenagers standing in line probably felt the same way.
    The girls said hello while waiting for their iced lattes. The two were regulars at the rink. Once they got their drinks, they beat it out the door, leaving me to ponder whether to get an iced mocha or a cinnamon latte.
    Sinbad’s lightly accented voice called to me from behind the large wooden counter. “Hey, Rebecca. I heard you found Jimmy’s car.”
    â€œOh, I didn’t really do anything.”
    â€œDon’t be so modest. I am sure the sheriff would not have found the car for days if you had not been on the case. Everyone is saying how Jimmy was smart to hire you.”
    I tried not to cringe. Sinbad’s coffee shop was one of the first stops in the Indian Falls gossip train. It was only a matter of time before Deputy Sean heard the town’s opinion of my abilities. If I were smart, I’d take a vacation.
    â€œI’ll have a caramel-cinnamon latte with an extra shot.” I was going to need it.
    â€œThis town is lucky to have you helping the sheriff. I am sure this must take away from time at your business.”
    That was one of the perks, but I could tell by Sinbad’s expression that he considered this a great sacrifice on my part. “It does,” I said with my best solemn expression.
    â€œBut you must worry when you are not there to be in charge. Who do you trust to make the decisions when you are away?”
    The coffee machine began to hiss.
    â€œMy staff is pretty good, and when they have a problem, they ask me about it.” Luckily, there weren’t many problems. As long as the music played and the skate counter was manned, things ran smoothly.
    â€œSo you have not hired a manager yet? I remember you were looking, yes?” Sinbad poured an extra shot of coffee into a large cup, one eye under a raised eyebrow focused on me.
    Weird. Why would the vacant position of rink manager interest the owner of a coffee shop? Perhaps he was looking to hire his own manager. There were only so many people in town willing and able to fill management positions. Maybe he was sizing up the