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eight
The day started with a small white envelope on his tidy desk. In the old days, before Sean was doing the tidy-your-area thing every night, he might not have noticed the envelope amongst his messy piles. But today, there it was, a neat rectangle against the backdrop of his green blotter. The return address started withT. Steele. The name didn’t ring a bell. Sean ripped it open and pulled out a greeting card with a cartoon dog on the cover. The dog sat on a green patch of grass and wore a red collar.Just Wanted to Say Thankswas printed in the sky above. Inside was a short note.
Detective Callahan,
Thank you for being so kind. Don’t say you were just doing your job because you and I both know that not everyone would’ve done what you did at the grocery store. Trinity and I will forever appreciate your help that day.
Blessings,
Tabitha.
“What’s that?” Castillo was suddenly there, reading over his shoulder.
Sean closed up the card. “Nunya.”
Castillo rolled her eyes. “All your business is my business. Get used to it.”
“Just a thank-you card. No big deal.” Even though it was. Not because he’d been thanked, as he never expected thanks, but because Tabitha had screwed up the courage to mail it. Sean had kind of been dragging this morning and now he felt his mood lifting.
“Oh, yeah? Well, in that case—” Castillo dropped some papers on his desk “—we’ve got a case.”
Sean lifted the report and scanned it, noting it was about a stolen motorcycle. His pulse rose as he slowed down and read through the details. This wasn’t just any bike someone had nabbed on a side street. This was a pricey, antique bike, stolen from a motorcycle shop.
Then he saw the name attached to the report.
Delaney Monroe, owner of Triple M Classics, located only ten miles from the police station and even closer to Semper Fit.
Sean’s heart sank as quickly as his pulse had risen. Delaney wasn’t a common name. A Delaney who rode motorcycles narrowed the field even more. So when he and Sonia headed out to the shop to talk to the owner, Sean didn’t have the typical edge of adrenaline that fired up his belly and told him this day was going to be a good one.
“What’s wrong with you?” Castillo glared at him over her coffee cup. She ran the lid along her bottom lip. “You’re off, somehow. Gloomy, when you should be oddly thrilled about a stolen vehicle.”
Sean shot her a glare. “It’s nothing,” he said. “Just...drop it for now.”
Castillo’s lips parted, like she might have a sassy comment, but then she closed her mouth and shrugged.
Triple M Classics was a brand-new, stand-alone shop located across the street from Nonnie’s, Sean’s favorite Italian restaurant. He’d never actually been to the shop, though he recalled it being named Dude’s Bikes not long ago. Before that, it was just a battery and oil change gig that was as old as the road it lived on, all the way back to when that road wasn’t even paved. Living quarters were above the shop, and from the info Sean had gleaned on his background search, Delaney Monroe lived alone and was the sole owner. He parked the minivan next to an old, white Ford truck, which he hadn’t seen her drive, but he supposed she’d need a vehicle other than a motorcycle to get around in. The shop was open for business, as indicated by the sign on the front door. A little bell jangled when Sean and Castillo stepped inside.
The shop was full of sunshine, due to a wide-open bay door on the far side of the store. Small pools of water from last night’s storms sparkled in the divots of the worn asphalt outside. Twigs and leaves shaken from the trees floated there. One small section of the store had shelves lined with inventory—an array of stock parts, helmets, jackets, magazines and memorabilia. A counter with a register was stationed near a back door, which was closed. A staircase led to the apartment above. The center space was wide-open, with two large workspaces in either corner, away from the merchandise. On the far side a motorcycle was up on a lift, something off-road, maybe a Pioneer.
On the other side of the Pioneer—which Sean could see was an OSSA as he got closer—was Delaney, clad in rugged blue jeans, motorcycle boots and a plain white T-shirt smeared with oil. The sides of her short, dark hair had been hastily pinned back in several places, which gave her an unexpected flash of softness. She had a wrench in her hand and was intent on her work. Well after the bell over the door sounded, Delaney turned to face them, tucking the wrench in her back pocket. Sean smiled, despite himself. She looked like one of the greasers, if Danny Zuko had had an adorable sister who decided the Pink Ladies weren’t her style.
“You gotta be shitting me,” she said, once recognition lit her eyes.
“Cat quick and tiger tough.” The words slipped out of Sean’s mouth.
Delaney’s eyebrows rose at the same time that Castillo shot him awhat the helllook.
“The OSSA,” Sean said quickly, pointing at the Pioneer. “That’s their slogan. Cat quick and tiger tough.”
“Oh.” Delaney’s face relaxed. If she smiled, she glanced at the bike to hide it. “Yeah. You’re right.” She almost sounded disappointed, like she’d wanted to be irritated at his appearance, but couldn’t muster it now.
“She yours?”
“Um, no.” Delaney glanced at the bike again. “I’m fixing her up for a client. He took her on the trails over the weekend. Brought her in this morning.”
Sean could see the air filter had been removed and the chain was in a pan of oil. “Got business already. That’s great.”
“Yeah, this guy has money. He doesn’t like to get dirty unless he’s riding, so he’s paying me to do the maintenance.” She shrugged.
