Skating Under the Wire: A Mystery (Rebecca Robbins Mysteries) by Joelle Charbonneau Page A

Pachelbel’s Canon in D blared from my phone. Danielle had sent me a text.
    “Sorry,” I said to Joey as I pulled out my phone and looked at Danielle’s text message.
    WEDDING FAVOR FRAMES ARRIVED BROKEN. HELP!
    I gave Joey an apologetic smile and typed back, I’LL FIGURE SOMETHING OUT. DON’T WORRY.
    While the white frames with silver and gold etching were tasteful, they weren’t exactly a big loss. Face it, no one really needed a three-inch by two-inch picture frame. Of course, now it was up to me to come up with something more interesting. Somehow I had a hard time believing real private investigators had to deal with this kind of crisis.
    Flipping open my notebook, I jotted down a reminder to find an appropriate wedding giveaway before Danielle gnawed off her recently polished nails. Then I looked back at Joey, trying to remember what we had been talking about.
    “Sorry,” I said. “You were telling me why you stopped volunteering on Thanksgiving.”
    Joey frowned. “The shelter closed down due to lack of funds. Since then I’ve been spending Thanksgiving here. I guess that means I don’t have an alibi for the last five years. Will that be a problem?”
    “As far as I’m concerned, you’re in the clear.” And on his way to becoming a saint. “But why haven’t you celebrated Thanksgiving with your family since?”
    “I didn’t know how to say I’d changed my mind without telling my mom about the shelter. I don’t want her to think I chose my dad over her. You know?”
    The logic was faulty, but the sentiment behind it was sweet. Unfortunately, that meant the poor guy was once again going to be alone on Turkey Day. The way his mouth turned down at the corners told me how he felt about that.
    Before I could consider the implications, I found myself asking, “Would you like to come to Thanksgiving dinner at my place this year?”
    “Really?” Joey gave me a toothpaste-ad-worthy smile. “Like a date?”
    Yikes. “No.”
    His smile dimmed. “You probably have a boyfriend, right?”
    “Boyfriend” seemed too casual a word after last night, but for lack of a better one … “Lionel Franklin and I have been seeing each other. His parents will be at dinner, too, along with my family and friends. It’d be great if you could join us.”
    By the time I climbed back in my car, I was up one dinner guest and down a suspect. Making a mental note to check how many place settings were in my cabinets, I flipped through my notebook and tried to decide what investigative path to take next. I had almost two hours until I had to meet Erica and Danielle for a dress fitting. Not enough time to go shopping for Danielle’s wedding favor replacements, more than enough to question another suspect—if I had one. None of the other names on Annette’s list made my Spidey-sense tingle.
    Feeling bummed by my lack of detecting skills, I opted to drive the two blocks to my grandfather’s house, hoping a snack would give my mental prowess a boost. At least it would stop my stomach from growling.
    My grandfather’s Lincoln Town Car sat in the driveway. Technically, the car was still registered in my grandmother’s name. After she died, Pop pulled a tarp over the Town Car. Aside from seasonal checkups by the local mechanic, it remained unused for over a decade. It wasn’t until after my mother died that Pop sold his vehicle and began using this one. The car guzzled gas, cornered like the Titanic, and, when Pop was decked out in concert attire, made him look like a geriatric broker of the world’s oldest profession.
    Pop normally parked the car in the garage. The fact that it was currently exposed to the damp cold made me believe that Elvis was in the building.
    Sure enough, the minute I opened my car door I could hear the sounds of bass drum, electric guitar, and slightly off-key but enthusiastic singing. Pop and his band were in rehearsal.
    Not wanting to ruin their musical mojo, I decided to wait until a break before