Free Bike Week Blues by Mary Clay Page B

to
tell.”
    “We hear Wheeler was seen with the guy who
was murdered. Would you know anything about that?” Jones asked.
    Penny Sue’s demeanor streaked through
Titanium Oleander to Southern Bitch. “I’m not saying another word
until I call Daddy and have counsel present.”
    “Fine,” Woody snapped, pocketing his
handkerchief. “Call Daddy. And, be sure to tell Daddy that you and
your friends are in danger. The murdered man and your good friend
were known to hang out with a most undesirable fellow, a gang-type
who doesn’t give a hang about the University of Georgia or Germany
supporting the U.S. in Iraq.”
    “Vulture,” Ruthie whispered.
    “Ah, you know of him.”
    “From our friends, the Anninas. Carl’s a
biker and he’s heard rumors about Vulture.”
    “This Carl recognized the guy on the
pavement as Vulture’s associate?” Jones shot.
    I nodded.
    Woody stood. “There you have it. Who did the
shooting? I don’t know. Yet one thing’s for certain—this is not a
group to trifle with. And, with a half million bikers in the area
for Bike Week, many with conflicting allegiances, this incident
could explode into a turf war of monumental proportions if we’re
not careful. Be sure to mention that to Daddy. My phone numbers are
on the card. I’ll expect to hear from you by the end of the
day.”
    “What about my car?”
    Jones and Woody started down the hall. “I’ll
give you an update when you call me.”
    * * *
    Penny Sue sat at the counter with her head
in her hands. “Bloody Mary. I need a Bloody Mary,” she
whimpered.
    “I’ll have one, too,” Ruthie said.
    I did a double take. Ruthie rarely drank
alcohol, except with us, and then nursed a single glass for hours.
That she wanted a cocktail before noon was a clear sign that
Woody’s speech had shaken her. I took the Tabasco Bloody Mary mix
from the refrigerator. Heck, I might as well have one myself.
    “Let’s smudge the place again,” Penny Sue
said without looking up.
    “The bundle’s still wet.”
    “Put it in the oven.”
    I slid the cocktail in front of Penny Sue as
Ruthie put the smudge stick in the toaster oven on low.
    “Sage,” I said, handing Ruthie her drink as
I took a long sip of mine. She went to the cabinet, found a bottle
of Spice Islands sage and dumped it in a bowl. Ruthie handed the
saucer to Penny Sue to do the honors.
    “Wait a second.” Penny Sue scooted (barreled
was more like it) down the hall and returned with a gold lighter
and a pack of cigarettes. “For luck,” she said, touching the flame
to the spice, then lighting a cigarette.
    “I thought you quit smoking,” I said.
    Penny Sue raised her hand to ward off
comment. “Please, don’t start on me now. I have an occasional
cigarette, that’s all. It calms my nerves. Anyway, what’s good for
native Americans is good enough for me. Right, Ruthie?”
    Ruthie nodded. “Yes, it was a sacred herb to
the Indians. And, new research shows that nicotine is beneficial in
Alzheimer’s.”
    My jaw dropped. I could hardly believe this
revelation was coming from Ruthie “Holistic Health” Nichols.
    She saw my disbelief. “It’s true. Nicotine
acts like acetylcholine, a crucial brain chemical for memory and
attention.”
    Penny Sue took a long drink of her Bloody
Mary and a drag of her cigarette. “I can vouch for that—I haven’t
been right since I quit smoking.”
    I looked at her puffing and wondered when
she’d quit smoking. I also wondered when Penny Sue’d ever been
right. One thing for sure, needling Woody was the wrong thing to do
and the faster she cooperated with the police the better. “Penny
Sue, you need to call your father right now. You’re on thin ice
with Woody. Besides, if you don’t cooperate you’ll never get your
car back.”
    “He wouldn’t dare.” She blew a smoke
ring.
    “In a heartbeat,” I countered.
    She snuffed her cigarette in the sage, which
had gone out, and downed the rest of her drink. “I suppose