Read Geared for the Grave (A Cycle Path Mystery) for Free Online Page B

driving a convertible around town and hunting island stories.
    “If you’re calling on Dwight,” Fiona said, “I was up at the Grand doing a piece on
Condé Nast Traveler
naming the hotel one of the five top resorts in the US and I saw His Sleaziness shoveling breakfast like he was King Tut on a throne. The man’s already zonked and told the waiter he intends to spend the whole day celebrating. If you want my opinion, I think Dwight’s a little too overjoyed about the Bunny Festival. He’s got a finger or toe in this somehow, I just know it.”
    Fiona nodded to Irma. “Hey, I know,” she continued. “Since there’s a good chance he orchestrated the Bunny Festival, maybe you can get him to orchestrate Dutchy. After the way that jerk double-crossed you, he’s due a festival of his own.” Fiona stared at my Band-Aids. “New fashion statement? How about a lift back into town?”
    Thank you, Jesus!
I started to climb on board, and Irma yanked me back. “We could use the exercise.”
    At this rate I was going to die of exercise. Fiona gave a little wave and flicked the reins, and hooves plodded off down the hill. “But . . . But we had a ride,” I said to Irma, trying really hard not to whine.
    Irma sat on the steps in front of SeeFar, staring blankly out at the water. She pushed her glasses up her nose. “They all know about Dutchy. I’m the laughingstock of the island. I’m like one of those people on
Judge Judy
that you want to slap silly because they’re so brainless. I’ve made some bad decisions, and there’s no way to fix things now. I’m just going to burn down the emporium and be done with the place.”
    I parked beside Irma. I’d had similar thoughts about Abigail’s ad agency until Grandpa Frank, my own personal cheerleader since I was old enough to hold a crayon, gave me a pep talk on not caving in when times got tough. It was my turn to pep. “Light the match and Dutchy wins. You don’t want him to win, do you? You’ve got to be strong. So what if you can’t make fudge? There are already a bunch of fudge shops here. Do something that people will notice, and then they’ll forget about Dutchy. Something new and different—like maybe open a bookstore. That’s it, everyone loves bookstores, and there’s no cooking.”
    I could almost see little gears churning behind Irma’s intent gray eyes, a slow grin rippling across her face. “I think you’re right.”
    “I am?”
    “Bunny winding up in the bushes is new and different around here, even better than the chili duel. Rudy’s not guilty of the Bunny Festival, but someone sure the heck is, so I’ll find out who.” Irma gazed skyward and folded her hands. “I feel so much better now; better than I have in months. I can help a friend, a really, really good friend who I haven’t been all that nice to, and do something exciting for a change.” She gave me a hug. “Thank you; you saved me.”
    “Can’t you get saved with a bookstore?”
    “We already have the Island Bookstore.” Irma took my arm and hauled me to my feet. “We’ve got to step on it while Dwight’s off getting drunk as a skunk. We all know he owes people money, so he might have it written down somewhere. If it’s a lot of money, that’s motive for him wanting this house to sell off.” Irma lowered her voice. “I think he did the old girl in; now we just need proof.”
    I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and held my hands out like a school crossing guard. “Waitaminute.
We
cannot break into someone’s house.”
    Irma waved her hand in the air and grinned. “You are such a city girl. There’s no locked doors around here, and we’re simply making an unannounced neighborly visit to see how Dwight’s getting on since his mamma’s gone to that great town council meeting in the sky and isn’t it too bad Dwight’s not home and we’ll just have a look around to see if we can help.” Irma ducked under my arm and hustled toward the back door before I