“You bet. That’s not why I’m here, though.” I gestured at the glass counter, the inside of which was festooned with mechanical bits that undoubtedly had something to do with bicycles, but whose specific purposes were unknown to me. “I decided to ride with that bike club on Saturday, and I really need to buy my own stuff for fixing a flat tire.”

It would be a teeny-tiny sale compared to the multi-hundred-dollar sale of a new bicycle, but he said, “Absolutely.”

I glanced at the other two customers. “Um, I can wait until you finish up here.”

Cody grinned. “These two will never be finished. They’re my riding buddies. Been riding Glacial Hills in Bellaire the last two days and came up to give me a hard time.”

He introduced them as Tyler and Rob—I never did learn their last names—and I introduced myself. We shook hands all around, and Cody said, “You’ll want a new tube, a repair kit, and tire irons. What size tire?”

“Oh. Um . . . well, I have no idea. I know what make and model it is, though.” And what color, but I was smart enough to keep that to myself.

I gave him the information I had, and he started typing into the computer. “Got it.” He peered through the glass and slid open the door. “Do you want one or two?”

Since I figured they couldn’t be that expensive, and I felt guilty for leading him astray with Tabitha’s nonpurchase, I asked for two.

“Just getting into biking?” Rob asked.

“Nothing like it.” Tyler laughed. “Wind in your face, sweat in your eyes, blisters on your—”

Rob elbowed him. “Don’t scare her off. We need more women in this sport.”

I smiled, and saw a way to switch the topic. “As of a couple of weeks ago, there’s one less woman. And one less man, too.”

The two men frowned. “What do you mean?” Tyler asked. “Someone have an accident?”

“Not like you think. A local bike club guy was murdered three weeks ago. And just a little after that, so was Emily Acosta. She was in the bike club, too.”

“Whoa.” Rob reared back. “That’s just too weird. Cody, did you know them? Hey, dude, are you okay? You look like—” He glanced at me. “You look sick, all of a sudden.”

Cody put a hand to his forehead and backed away. “I’m fine. I just need a second to get . . . to get some aspirin or something.”

He hurried off and, frowning, I watched him go. He’d seemed perfectly healthy until thirty seconds ago, when I’d started talking about Emily and Brown. Why had he suddenly turned so pale? Had it simply reminded him of the money owed him? Or was he suffering from a guilty conscience? Could he be the killer?

*   *   *