Murder on the Bike Path

A short story fiction

By Sara McDermott

Diane rode every day. She loved the winding, hilly path that ran ten miles along the river, affording her both the exercise she needed and the time to savor some solitary hours away from the family of boarders and whiners she lived with.  She was on her own now and could barely afford her room in the big old Victorian mansion Mrs. Goody had turned into a cheap boarding house.  The other tenants, with their mundane lives and petty complaints, were of little interest to her.

Thick greenery dominated one side of the path while the other gave a clear view of the downtown buildings across the river.

On this Monday riders were scarce so it wasn’t a good day for hobby.  Diane grinned to herself.  Slow days were always a challenge.  She bided her time and listened for any sound that would disturb the calm that surrounded her.   But today all was quiet and she concentrated on her enjoyment of nature and the fun of riding along feeling the strength in her legs and the cool breeze pushing her long hair back from her face.

A shadow played briefly on the wall of small trees and bushes.  Something moved and rustled the foliage underfoot and she was momentarily unnerved.  She strained to see through the thick brush as she slowed down to catch her breath.

“Nothing there,” Diane said to herself, “I’ll try again tomorrow.”

Lost in her own thoughts of the reason for her daily trips, Diane marveled at how easy it was to indulge her hobby out here in nature’s playground.  The afternoon sun stroked her back and settled over her,  calming her and rejecting any second thoughts she might have as she trembled in anticipation of the next day’s ride.

She heard the shrill high-pitched whistle marking the noon break at the cereal plant across the river as she retreated.  She suppressed a giggle.  Most likely no-one would hear a scream at noon on a weekday.  She liked intrigue and danger.  She often let her imagination run amok on these rides.

Diane started early the following day.  It was July in Iowa with oppressive humidity, and she expected only the hardiest of riders to brave the heat.

Again she heard the soft rustle of someone on the other side of the bank of trees.  She wondered why anyone would be skulking around on foot on such a hot day.  She sometimes heard voices out here but today all was quiet.  She tried to relax and enjoy the solitude but something nagged at her.

Farther over beyond the trees was a small lake mostly used for fishing.  There were a few picnic tables no-one ever used and some fire pits for grilling, even though they too were seldom ever used.  The few people who fished there never took pains to be quiet.

Diane rode a little faster.  She was approaching a secluded portion of the trail where thick foliage shut out the sun and cast shadows on the trees.  She always felt a twinge of excitement when she reached this point in her ride.  She relished the half darkness and the feeling of strength and power it gave her.   She chuckled to herself.  To think of herself as powerful was laughable considering her innocent face and petite stature.

She kept hearing the same rustling noise that she had noticed when she entered the trail.  She stopped and looked around carefully.  There definitely was someone moving with her as she made her way along the path.  She knew every inch of the surrounding area and was confident no-one could get the drop on her.  All she had to do was secure the bike and circle around the lake on foot.  The stalker would be expecting her to stay on the path, but she would be behind him as he searched for her on the bike.

Derek was almost finished with the day’s work when he reached the picnic area next to the lake.  He liked his job because he could set his own hours and work at his own pace.

He was an arborist.  His job was to monitor and treat trees and other woody plants.  He ran a consulting service and lived by himself.  He loved nature and respected all forms of life.  Derek had few enemies, and when he had spare time, he liked to hike and clear his head by admiring nature in all its forms.

Diane trekked around the trees and stood looking at the lake with a satisfied grin teasing her mouth.  It wouldn’t do to move too fast.  She had glimpsed a man alone in the fishing area by the picnic tables.  She liked to savor the moment when she finally got the opportunity to indulge her pastime.  Her late husband had always ruined her fun at a time like this.  He was a dull man with no taste for excitement or adventure, the reason she had tired of him.  She much preferred her life now, no ties, no lectures, just freedom.

Derek was sitting on one of the picnic benches, his back to her.  Diane couldn’t help but notice his lean, supple body and good looks as she approached the table.  He didn’t move or turn toward her.  He was absorbed in watching a wary, bright-eyed squirrel guarding a tiny stack of acorns slated for winter storage.

“Probably a tree-hugger,” she said to herself.

Derek gasped and cried out as she guided the sharp knife easily into his back.  His right rib and lung were hit first, paralyzing him with pain.  Diane was practiced and accurate by now.  It took the aim of an expert  to move quickly and stab again, this time in the direction of his heart.  He coughed once as the blood shot out of his mouth, and then all was quiet again.

Diane reveled in the realization that she was getting better when she saw how easily Derek had died.

The shrill noon whistle blared out across the river as she trotted through the trees to retrieve her bike.

She smiled contentedly as she rode for home.  She wondered what Mrs. Goody was preparing for lunch.