by Amie Denman
“Find it?” Mel Preston yelled. He was almost one hundred feet over Jack’s head, perched on the Sea Devil coaster. The navy blue track had white crests of paint at the top of each hill that looked like ocean waves. If all went well, the Sea Devil would whip and spin and make riders feel as if they were in the clutches of a leviathan. And the new ride would bring in enough ticket revenue to justify its staggering cost.
Jack, still digging through the metal box, the morning sun in his eyes, didn’t answer right away.
“It’s painted red, should have a gauge on it,” Mel shouted. He started down the narrow metal steps on the side of the track used for maintenance and emergencies.
Jack pulled tools from the box and stacked them on the tailgate.
“I’m almost at the bottom and I don’t think it’s...” Something furry brushed his fingers and then crawled over his hand. He jerked his hand out and took a wild step backward.
“Find my pet spider?” Mel asked, breathing heavily after his climb.
Jack leaned against the side of the truck and closed his eyes. He muttered something he knew his longtime friend would ignore.
Mel poured coffee from a thermos into a disposable cup. “Don’t know if it’s the same spider or the tenth generation. Forgot she’s always in there. Named her Black Velvet.” He opened a toolbox on the other side of the truck and held up a red gauge. “Here it is. Guess I told you the wrong side.”
“Numskull,” Jack said, accepting the coffee. “Can’t decide if I want to fire you or have this truck sprayed. Or both.”
Mel sat on the tailgate, swinging his feet and sipping coffee right out of the thermos.
“That’s no way to talk to your favorite employee. I might cry myself to sleep tonight.”
“How long till opening day?” Jack asked. “Twelve days?”
“Yep.” Mel shaded his eyes and glanced up. “Sea Devil should be ready to go. Just gotta get these hydraulic brakes to pass muster with the state inspectors.”
Jack nodded, looking over the coaster and saying nothing. Maintenance trucks littered the grounds at Starlight Point. The midway resembled a carnival parking lot with the food vendors moving into their stands, employees scuttling everywhere to ramp up for what had to be a profitable season. Had to be. He thought of what would happen if the family-owned park didn’t turn a sizable profit. Jack ran his hand through his hair and rubbed his tired eyes with two fingers.
“Maybe I should have saved that bottle of Jack Daniel’s to put in your coffee,” Mel suggested. He scratched a spot on his jaw and left a trail of black grease. Mel was the same age as Jack, and they’d been friends for twenty years. Mel had worked his way up from seasonal ride mechanic to head of maintenance and knew every nut and bolt on every ride. Now that the whole weight of Starlight Point rested on Jack’s shoulders, he needed Mel’s expertise and advice more than ever.
“How are your mom and sisters handling your father’s sudden passing?” Mel asked.
“About as well as any of us,” Jack said. “Can’t decide if it’s the best or worst timing in the world. Going so sudden like that, only a month before season opening.” Jack sipped his coffee. “Threw us all into a tailspin.”
Mel nodded and fiddled with the gauge in his hand.
“Then again, running our butts off to get this year going takes our minds off it,” Jack said. He leaned an arm on the side rail of the truck bed. For a few seconds, he considered confiding in his friend. If telling someone would make the situation better, he’d do it. Mel was loyal to the Hamilton family and to Starlight Point. The secret would be safe. But there was nothing Mel could do about the loans piled on loans Ford Hamilton had concealed from everyone—even his own son.
“You’ve been training to run this place your whole life,” Mel said. “Probably have a record season. Just wish your dad was alive to see it.”
Jack crumpled his empty cup and tossed it in the construction Dumpster under the new ride.
“Me, too.”
* * *
GUS MURPHY PLACED cookies in her display case and glanced out the gleaming front windows of Aunt Augusta’s Downtown Bakery. Her bakery. Starting this shop with the blessing and help of her namesake aunt had been a leap of faith. She hoped coming home to Bayside last October was the right thing to do. With everything riding on her success, forward was the only direction she could go. But it wasn’t going to be easy.
A woman with short silver hair stopped on the front sidewalk. She was pulling a red wagon carrying a medium-sized brown, white and black dog, its nose and front paws hanging over the side. The woman left the dog and the wagon outside and came through the door, setting off a cheerful jingling. She dug in her purse and pulled out several envelopes.
“Wanted to deliver these personally,” she said, smiling. “Thank-you notes for being so kind when my husband passed. The sweets you sent to the house were much appreciated. Especially by my son, who would live on cookies if he could.”
“Sounds like my kind of guy,” Gus said.
“Virginia!” Aunt Augusta came through the swinging door from the back of the bakery. She hustled around the counter, her apron a loud mix of color and frosting.
“Got some new turnovers for you to try on for size. Let’s sit by the window where you can keep an eye on Betty, just in case the old gal takes off after a bicycle.”
Gus went out front and sat next to the wagon on the sunny sidewalk. She’d hoped the wrought-iron table and chairs in front of her window would attract people in need of a coffee and pastry break. But today she was the only person taking advantage. The life of a baker meant early mornings followed by long days on her feet. She stretched her legs and rested her back against the front wall of the building whose mortgage kept her up at night. What had she been thinking? And now her brilliant idea to bolster her immediate cash flow meant she’d divide her time between her bakery and her business venture at Starlight Point.
She groaned. Betty woke up, nose twitching, and licked Gus’s hand. “I’ll have to wash that later,” Gus told Betty. “Who knows where your tongue has been?” She scratched the dog’s ears.
Betty licked her palm once more as a long shadow crossed the sidewalk. Gus glanced up. Way up. The kayaker who liked cookies stood over her. He looked even better in the daylight. And in a button-down oxford with the sleeves rolled to his elbows.
Betty leaped from the wagon and put her paws on the man’s knees. He picked her up, ruffling her furry face and ears.
“I’m guessing you and Betty have met before,” Gus observed.
“We’re old friends.”
“You have a lot in common,” Gus said. “She’s tempted by my cookies, too, and I’ve caught her trying to steal one.”
“Still haven’t forgiven me?”
Gus shrugged and smiled. “I was never mad in the first place. I make sweets, people eat them. Sometimes they even pay me. I’m hoping to build a business on that idea.”
He glanced at her apron. “Are you taking a break right now?”
She pointed over her shoulder. “Aunt Augusta’s in charge at the moment.”
He leaned close to the window, looked in and waved. Turning back to Gus, he bent and placed Betty in the wagon.
“You know my aunt?” Gus asked.
“Nope, but I know my mother. I told her I’d pick her up downtown after she delivered her notes.”
Betty settled in with a sigh and put her nose on the edge of the wagon where she could see everything, including the door of the shop.
“Since I’m pretty sure we’re not cousins, there’s only one explanation,” Gus said. “If Virginia is your mother, and Betty loves you like family, you must be—”
“Jack Hamilton,” he said, extending one large sun-browned hand.
So the impatient kayaker who drove an ancient S
UV was the new owner of Starlight Point? Of course she knew about his father’s sudden death a few weeks ago—the whole area had been shocked that such a relatively young man had been taken by a heart attack. She had met Ford Hamilton twice to discuss the contract for the three bakeries she would lease at Starlight Point this summer. In her downtown bakery, there had been a lot of speculation about the future of the amusement park, but the counter talk focused on the twenty-six-year-old son who was ready to step in.
Gus had returned to Bayside only last fall to put down roots, but her aunt and Jack’s mother were old acquaintances. Although Gus had seen Virginia a number of times over the winter, she hadn’t met any of the three Hamilton children.
Until now.
Gus took Jack’s hand and pulled herself up. A rush of endorphins whirled through her like a scrambler ride. Maybe it was his smile. Maybe she’d stood up too fast. She held on to his hand.
“Augusta Murphy,” she said. “Most people call me Gus.”
“Why?”
“When I was young, it was because Gus is a much cuter name than Augusta. These days, I think it’s so I don’t get confused with Aunt Augusta.”
“Who would make that mistake?” he said, grinning and keeping a firm grip on her hand. He inclined his head toward the door of the shop. “Can I buy you a cup of coffee to make up for ruining your cookie experiment?”
“My experiment failed anyway,” she said. “I ate the rest of the cookies Saturday night while I watched the TV shows I’d recorded all week.”
“All baking and cooking channels?” he asked.
“Nope. I only watch comedies and reality shows that are nothing like actual reality. I can’t take television seriously.”
“What do you take seriously?” he asked.
“Birthday cake.”
He nodded. “Cake can make or break a good party.”
“Cake is the star of every birthday party and wedding,” she said. “It’s the guest of honor.”
Gus smiled, liking the way the sun picked up the lighter brown in Jack’s dark hair. He smiled back. At that moment, she wondered what it would be like to run her fingers through the hair that waved away from his high forehead.
“Jack,” Virginia said as she came out the shop door. “I see you’ve met the most talented lady in Bayside.” Virginia turned to Gus. “He’s had a love affair with sugar since he could walk. Used to drive the bakery vendor at the Point nuts all summer.”
“He did steal one cookie,” Gus said. “Right out of my van.”
“I’m not surprised,” Virginia replied. “He couldn’t help himself, I’m sure. You have to admit, you’ve got baking in your blood. I was just talking to your aunt about having you be the STRIPE sergeant this summer.”
Aunt Augusta stood in the doorway behind Virginia, hands held out in a gesture of innocence, eyes huge.
“STRIPE?” Gus asked, raising an eyebrow at Jack.
“You don’t want to know,” he said, leaning close to her as his mother turned to say goodbye to Aunt Augusta. “But whatever she asks you to do, I suggest you say no.” He wrinkled his brow and leaned back, cocking his head. “Wait a minute. Are you working at Starlight Point this summer?”
“Yes. Didn’t you know? I...”
Virginia sailed between them, took Jack’s arm with one hand and grabbed the wagon’s handle with the other. Jack stared at Gus as if he was trying to figure out a puzzle, but his mother’s momentum tugged him away.
“We’ll talk,” Virginia said over her shoulder. “Later. I need a strong woman for my mission.”
Betty’s sleepy glance lingered on Gus as she rode in the wagon behind Virginia and Jack Hamilton. Jack turned and looked back, too, and Gus wondered what it would be like to see him every day at Starlight Point.
CHAPTER THREE
GUS PARKED IN front of her bakery on the Starlight Point midway. The wide concrete avenue had snack and souvenir shops down both sides with skyway cars running overhead. A few rides and a theater were mixed in among the shops, most notably a historic carousel right in front of her bakery’s new pink awning.
The back of the van, usually outfitted for transporting wedding cakes, held three large convection ovens. One for each of the bakeshops Gus was leasing for the summer. She had another location in the Wonderful West and one in the Lake Breeze Hotel.
Last year the Point’s baker retired only weeks before Gus came home to Bayside. It seemed like a sign from the baking universe that she should make the leap. Now, though, with the sudden death of Ford Hamilton, she needed to get the paperwork in order to confirm the verbal contract they’d negotiated. Not usually the nervous sort, Gus wondered what changes Jack Hamilton might make.
She opened her van doors and stared at the ovens, hands on hips. She glanced at the side door of her bakery.
“How are you planning to unload all that?” The newly familiar voice sent a ripple through her.
Gus had wondered the same thing. Optimism could only get a girl so far. She needed muscle.
And Jack appeared to have plenty of it.
“I’m taking suggestions,” she said. She could use all the help she could find. Getting three bakeshops equipped, staffed, supplied and running in the next ten days would be as easy as teaching a cat to shave.
He shrugged off his dark gray suit jacket and slung it over the open van door. Gus thought he should shed the crisp white dress shirt, too, just to be on the safe side. But he rolled up the sleeves instead.
“I’m not busy right now,” he said.
Gus laughed. She gestured at the chaos everywhere around them. Maintenance trucks and crews crawled along the midway like ants over ice cream spilled on the sidewalk. Other vendors parked in front of shops and hauled merchandise. The skyway cars groaned into action overhead, shaking off their winter’s rest.
“Right,” she said. “This place probably runs itself.”
Jack looked at the overhead cars and then rubbed his eyes with the heels of both hands. “Sure. How about we trade? I’ll put on an apron with those little bells, and you can wear my name tag, which pretty much asks for trouble.”
The cell phone in his coat pocket rang, vibrating loudly against the metal van door.
“Are you going to answer that?” she asked.
“Can’t. I’m busy helping a vendor I just met. I wondered who would replace our old baker. I grew up stealing sweets from him.” He gestured toward the pink awning. “I like the improvement already.”
Gus pulled a two-wheeled dolly out of the van. “I’m just getting started. I should have been here weeks ago, but I’ve been busy with spring wedding season.”
“How are you going to manage summer wedding season?”
“One cake at a time,” she said as she climbed into the back of the van.
Gus shoved the first boxed oven to the rear and Jack manhandled it onto the cart. She held the door and watched him muscle it right into a corner of her midway bakery.
“Can I talk you into coming to my bakeries in the hotel and the Wonderful West? I still have two ovens in the van.”
She figured there was zero chance of this happening. The owner of Starlight Point wasn’t likely to waste any more of his countdown-to-opening-day time. Especially since he hardly knew her, but now he knew how heavy those boxes were.
Jack glanced at the wall clock. Its hands were stopped, the unplugged cord swinging beneath it. “Looks like I have plenty of time,” he said.
A few of the other vendors waved and then paused, a puzzled expression on their faces as they saw Jack Hamilton toss his suit coat on the floor of the van, shut the back doors and climb in the shotgun seat with Gus at the wheel.
“Do you usually help vendors move in?” she asked.
“There is nothing usual about this year,” he said,
unrolling his window. “Turn just before the Scrambler and we can squeeze out the beach gate and drive down the boardwalk to the hotel.”
It was too early for anyone to be tempted by Lake Huron’s cold waters, but lifeguards swept the beach and set up chairs as they passed by.
“I’m sorry about your father,” Gus said.
Jack kept his head turned, watching the beach and lake. “Thank you,” he said quietly.
Gus wanted to ask how he planned to manage the park and if she would see a contract anytime soon. She regretted the handshake and verbal agreement she’d made with Ford Hamilton. She’d planned to sign the papers a month ago, but then everything changed.
The financial risks she’d taken woke her up in the night, but her problems were nothing compared to Jack’s. Losing a parent and gaining a huge family business in one fell swoop? That was a sleep stealer.
“Should be a quick drop-off at the hotel bakeshop. And I bet you know a shortcut through the Wonderful West to my bakery.”
“We could take the train,” he suggested, turning to her with a hint of a smile. “But there’s a shoot-out on the tracks right behind the Last Chance. I hope you don’t mind listening to gunfire all summer.”
She laughed. “That wasn’t in the contract.”
Jack’s smile faded and he returned to looking out the window as she maneuvered the van into the hotel’s loading dock. He was quiet as they shoved the second box out and deposited it in the bakeshop.
He directed her through a back gate and she drove from the outer loop road straight into the Wonderful West. She dodged queue lines, trees and maintenance trucks as she drove on “The Trail.” A tall, slim girl with a messenger bag slung over her shoulder walked along the trail, her back to them.
Suddenly, Jack reached over and blew the van’s horn, brushing his fingers over Gus’s on the steering wheel.
“My sister,” he said, grinning.
Hand over her heart with an expression of surprise mixed with homicide, the tall girl mouthed the word jerkface as they passed her.
