Part 25 (1/2)
”Not only one, but two apologies. Two in less than thirty seconds! That's got to be a record.”
It was, but the ranger would receive confirmation of that factoid from me when my gammy stopped playing her fortune cookie numbers in the lottery.
Not. Gonna. Happen.
I rubbed the phone against the b.u.t.tons of my s.h.i.+rt and held it away from me.
”I can hardly hear you! There's too much static.”
This scam rarely worked with the savvy ranger anymore. I'd used it way too often. Still, it generally got my point across.
”I hear you, Tressa. Loud and clear. I've been following the Keelie Keeler stuff. What the h.e.l.l is going on out there?” Rick asked.
Like I had a real clue.
”It's all smoke and mirrors,” I a.s.sured him. ”These reality shows? They're all very carefully ch.o.r.eographed and scripted. Nothing happens by accident.”
”Oh? What about the attack on Keelie Keller's agent and you stumbling on him in the dead of night?” Rick asked. ”Was that staged, or was it an accident?”
”Well, of course that was an accident!” I huffed. ”You don't think I stumbled across another b.l.o.o.d.y body on purpose, do you?”
”That's not what I mean, and you know it, Tressa,” Rick said. ”I'm just saying, from what I hear of the agent's injury, it would have been impossible for him to inflict it himself.”
I frowned.
”Just whom have you been talking to, exactly?” I asked.
”Taylor and I visited before she put you on the phone. She said it was obvious someone attacked the agent from behind. Dumb me. I thought I'd only have to worry about you when you were on your bike. It didn't occur to me that the stopovers would prove more dangerous. What made you agree to a night in the Murder House anyway?”
”Would you believe my id made me do it?” I asked.
”It's time you stopped blaming Freud for your destructive impulses, Tressa,” Rick said. ”We both know there's more than a personality triad run amok going on here. You have a gift, Tressa Turner. A gift for finding trouble.”
We were making progress. Used to be Ranger Rick would tell you my gift was ”making” trouble. Now, it appeared I was merely an innocent wayfarer skipping blindly into it. So. Yeah. Progress.
”There's sort of this wager going,” I began.
”Wager?”
”You know. A team wager.”
”On what exactly?”
”Well, that's not well-defined.” I gave a short synopsis of how the contest climate had started and eventually shook out, including an overview of the back and forth with Keelie and Kompany and my hopes for a truce, as well as Stan's behind-my-back bet with Paul Van Vleet of the New Holland News. ”So, you see, I'm really operating on several fronts. One. I'm trying to win a bet for the big guy, and, two, I'm trying to uphold the honor of my fellow Heartland inhabitants by taking on a bratty, big shot reality star from a Beverly Hills zip code.”
”In other words, your compulsion to win is driving you.”
”Hey. There's been no backseat driving of Miss Tressa here, Mr. Ranger, sir,” I said, trying to divert Rick's attention away from my foibles and back on my amazing accomplishment. ”I'll have you know this amateur biker has pedaled each and every mile of this hot, sticky, b.u.t.t-numbing road show so far.” Something, I would bet my poor, abused bottom dollar my famous compet.i.tor could not lay claim to.
”About that b.u.t.t,” Ranger Rick said, and my heart went pitter-patter.
”Yes?”
”I like it the way it is so make sure it isn't pounded down to a mere shadow of its former self,” Rick said.
A flash of heat hotter than my Uncle Frank's deep fat fryers at high noon produced the sheen of perspiration on my face. I set my coffee down and fanned my cheeks with my free hand.
”Is that an order, Mr. Ranger, sir?” I asked.
”I know better than to give you an order, Calamity,” he teased. ”Look at it as a heartfelt request.”
I fanned faster.
”I guess I'll er...see you when we overnight in Grandville,” I stammered.
”Is that an invitation?” Rick asked.
Was it?
”Anything's possible in Team Trekkie's Rootin' Tootin' Reality Road Race,” I hedged. ”By the way, will you be joining TribRide when we leave Grandville?” I asked.
A pause.
”Anything's possible in a Ranger Rick to the Rescue Ride Across Iowa,” he finally said.
”Thanks for the warning,” I said, and hit end.
I could see the T-s.h.i.+rt logo now: Bikers do it in circles.
And c.o.c.keyed cowgirls?
They go along for the ride, of course.
Snap! Snap!
Van Vleet flicked his fingers in my face.
”Snap out of it, Red s.h.i.+rt! Time to hit the road. Move it, Blondie. It's a long, hot ride to Creston. And, as you're so fond of saying, 'we're burning daylight, pilgrim.'”
I made a face. ”Uh, quick point of fact here. That Duke Wayne quote-or any Duke Wayne quote, for that matter-should never, ever, ever, be recited by anyone wearing socks with sandals. It's just...wrong.” I said, looking down at his feet and shaking my head.
”Funny. But it will be me laughing when your cousin's girlfriend pulls out leaving you to hoof it back to Highway 34, where we pick up the ride,” he said.
”She wouldn't dare.”
No sooner were those words out of my mouth than I understood how totally removed from reality I was.