Under the Boardwalk

by Amie Denman

  * * *

  JACK’S CELL PHONE woke him up from a deep sleep. Instinctively, he grabbed the phone and glanced at the time. Who the heck would be calling him at one thirty in the morning?

  He swiped the screen and mumbled a confused hello.

  “Bayside Police dispatch. Is this Jack Hamilton?”

  He didn’t recognize the dispatcher’s detached voice, but she had his full attention anyway.

  “Yes. What’s wrong?”

  “Report of a robbery in progress at Starlight Point. We’re sending officers and an ambulance.”

  “What?” He jumped out of bed and stepped into jeans and sneakers from the pile on his bedroom floor. Shirtless, he moved toward the kitchen, where his keys hung on a hook by the door.

  “A woman called it in. Said two men were robbing the arcade in the Wonderful West. They attacked her and took off.”

  A chill racked Jack’s body. Cell phone still at his ear, he was already opening his car door.

  “Who reported it?”

  “A woman named—” the dispatcher paused as if consulting her notes “—Augusta Murphy.”

  As Jack sped across the lot, his heart raced like an overworked engine. Questions tortured him. What was Augusta doing at the park in the middle of the night? She wouldn’t be baking at this hour. Would she? Was she hurt? Where were the robbers now?

  The flashing lights on three police cars and an ambulance approached from the Point Bridge on his left and he slowed to let them onto the Outer Loop ahead of him.

  They were the real heroes here.

  He was the fool who’d cut security, shut off lights and exposed Starlight Point to this kind of situation.

  Worse than that, he’d put someone he cared about in danger. All he could see was Augusta’s beautiful face and open smile. Was she injured? How badly? He tried to calm his panicked thoughts by remembering that she had called in the burglary. Even if she needed an ambulance, even if she had been attacked, she was still able to make a phone call.

  He followed the rescue squad to the gate where the nighttime security guard waited, headlights illuminating the area. The tollbooth was now unmanned, but the worst was already happening so it didn’t matter. Also at the gate, Gus’s pink delivery van sat, still running, headlights on. The sight of her vehicle made the danger more real—there was no doubting who had called in the burglary now. Who had been attacked.

  Jack got out of his car, cursing himself for every stupid decision he’d made that summer. He switched off her van as he went by.

  At least the burglars hadn’t stolen it. But what else had they done? He would hand over the keys to Starlight Point if it would mean Augusta was unharmed.

  Guns drawn, the Bayside police went through the gate first. Jack followed too closely, focused on finding Gus.

  Where is she?

  They passed the carousel, a shuttered hot-dog stand, the empty queue lines for a family ride. Moving slowly, flashlights sweeping the area. Too slowly.

  “The arcade is right here,” Jack said.

  The lights were out and the door stood open like an empty mouth. Still no Augusta. But a light was on in the back of her bakery only two buildings away.

  Jack tapped the cop on the shoulder and indicated the light. He and one officer headed for the Last Chance Bakery while the others searched the arcade.

  The front door was locked when the police officer stealthily turned the handle.

  “Never know if the robbers are in there or if they’ve got her hostage,” he whispered.

  The thought of Augusta being held hostage removed any trace of calmness Jack had tried to hang on to. He dashed around to the back and used his height to peer in a high window usually left open for ventilation.

  The only thing he saw was Gus. On the floor. Covered in blood. He jerked on the door handle, but it was locked.

  “Augusta, it’s me. Jack,” he yelled. He returned to the window and finally breathed when he saw her get up and move slowly toward the door.

  She’d only opened it an inch when he squeezed through and pulled her against him. She sagged in his arms. The police officer swept the bakery quickly and declared it clear. He left, promising to return with the paramedics.

  “Sit down, Gus,” Jack said, reluctant to release her but desperate to assess her condition.

  “No chairs,” she mumbled.

  “Don’t you ever sit down at the bakery?”

  “Not enough room.”

  “Remind me to build an addition. Tomorrow.” He picked Augusta up and set her on the counter so her face was level with his. With relief, he quickly saw where most of the blood was coming from. A cut under her hair still oozed bright red.

  Jack grabbed paper towels from the wall dispenser by the sink, ran them under cold water and applied pressure. He had never seen Augusta so quiet.

  “Where else are you hurt?”

  “Nowhere. Just scrapes.” She held up her elbow for him to see where she’d hit the pavement.

  With one hand holding the towels on her head, he held her close with the other arm. He had never taken the time to put on a shirt, and Gus’s eyelashes brushed against his bare chest when she blinked.

  “I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

  “Not your fault.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “You didn’t knock me over running from a robbery.”

  “I cut security down to nothing. That was my decision. My responsibility,” he said.

  The paramedics, an older man and a young woman, came through the back door and peeled Augusta out of Jack’s arms. They placed her on the gurney and assessed her with professional precision. After applying a bandage and instant ice pack to her head, they asked her a dozen questions to evaluate the severity of her head injury. She answered with the date, time, her name, occupation, the name of the current president and her birth date.

  “Were you working late tonight...or early?” the young woman asked.

  Gus smiled faintly. “Neither. I came in to check an oven. Didn’t want to burn down Starlight Point,” she said.

  “Was the oven on when you got here?” Jack asked.

  “No. Stone cold. All this for nothing.”

  Jack took one of her hands and held it.

  “We’re going to take you to the hospital for X-rays and evaluation,” the older paramedic said. “And you’ll need a few stitches.”

  Gus held up her free hand. “Not necessary. I feel better. I can drive myself.”

  “You’re not driving yourself,” Jack said.

  “I don’t need an ambulance. Really.”

  “I’ll take you.” Jack looked to the paramedics for approval.

  “Are you a relative?”

  “No. I own this place and I’m responsible for what happens to everyone here. And I’m...a friend.”

  The man shrugged. “Sign here and you can take the liability for her.”

  Jack kept her hand in his. “I’ll take care of her,” he said, watching her expression and hoping she would let him.

  Gus didn’t protest. “Can we take my van? I can’t leave it here.”

  “Of course. But you’ll have to let me drive.”

  The chief of the Starlight Point police department barged through the back door. “Caught two teenagers walking the beach around the peninsula. Bayside police got ’em in a squad car. They’re bringing them around for you to identify.”

  Gus paled and Jack tightened his grip on her hand. “You don’t have to do this,” he said.

  “I can tell you who one of them is. He worked in the arcade the first few weeks of the season, but I heard he got fired for stealing,” Augusta said. “Stocky kid, messy blond hair.”

  “I can ID that one,” the chief said. “Open-and-shut
case. And the kid with him should probably learn to keep better company. Now they’ve got breaking and entering, robbery and assault on their records.”

  “Not assault,” Gus said. “They pushed me over and ran. Scared, stupid kids. If they’d really meant to hurt me...” Her words trailed off, but the knot in Jack’s gut tightened.

  “You take over tonight,” he told his chief of security. “Drive my car to my office and leave it there. Keys are in it. We’re having a meeting tomorrow to review our security policy. What happened tonight will never happen again.”

  Jack slowly pulled Gus to her feet and walked her to the van someone had driven in from the gate. He buckled her in and got in the driver’s seat.

  The fact that his cost cutting had endangered Augusta tore him to pieces. He had to save Starlight Point, but he couldn’t do it by hurting the people he loved.

  * * *

  OVER THE NEXT two days, Gus had more visitors to her third-floor apartment than she’d seen in the almost ten months she’d lived there.

  Evie came by twice and called several more times to report that the bakeries at the Point were surviving. The talented teenager who’d been stuck on parking-lot duty was reassigned to work in her midway bakery and his decorating skills were quickly drawing attention. According to Evie, Jack had walked Corey to the bakery and handed him an apron.

  Gus was anxious to get back to her bakeries, but the doctor had insisted she take some time off. Aunt Augusta’s fussing—she hadn’t left Gus’s bedside since Jack reluctantly drove away the morning after the robbery—was driving her crazy, no matter how well-intentioned. She’d finally gotten her aunt to go back to work by telling her she’d rest easier knowing the downtown shop was in good hands. Aunt Augusta had even called Gus’s parents in China to tell them what happened and assure them their daughter was in good hands. Gus rolled her eyes during the first part of the phone conversation and then insisted on talking to them herself so they wouldn’t think she’d lost an eye or something.

  Being babied was not in Gus’s repertoire. She wanted to grab an apron and frost something. Anything.

  During the afternoon lull at the Point, several of her vendor friends came across on the ferry to bring her a hot dog and fries. “Wanted to bring you an ice-cream cake,” Tosha said, “but I didn’t think it would hold up. Hot out there.”

  “We got you these,” Bernie said, holding out a bunch of flowers.

  Tosha set them on a table by the window, beside a vase filled with a dozen pink roses.

  “Secret admirer?” she asked.

  “They’re from Jack Hamilton,” Gus answered. There was no point denying it when Tosha could easily see the card for herself. He hadn’t written a gushy message. Just an honest one.

  I’m so sorry this happened. I hope you feel better soon. Jack.

  “Sounds like he feels guilty for chopping security,” Tosha said. “He should.”

  “Maybe,” Gus said. “But it’s not his fault I thought I left an oven on and was roaming around in the middle of the night.”

  “I heard he beefed up security around the clock since the robbery,” Bernie said. “Back to the way his father had it. Maybe that boy is learning.”

  Gus still had a headache and didn’t feel like defending Jack or arguing with her friends. They talked about neutral topics, assured her they were looking out for her bakeries until she got back on her feet, hugged her and left.

  The next day was a disaster waiting to happen. A three-tiered wedding cake and five sheet cakes for extra servings had to be delivered. The bakery staff would decorate the cakes—and Augusta had no doubts about her aunt’s skills. After all, Gus had learned from her aunt. She was worried about who would drive the big pink van. Since she’d bought it, none of the ladies in her shop had volunteered to get behind the wheel.

  Her doorbell rang at eight o’clock Saturday morning. Gus pulled the front curtain aside and looked through the narrow window. Jack stood wearing a bright pink T-shirt with her company logo. She opened the door.

  Jack pulled her into a hug. “Let me see you,” he said, drawing back her hair and taking a close look at her stitches. He kissed her temple.

  “I hope you got my flowers.”

  “I did...thank you,” Gus said.

  “I wish I could stay, but I’m on a mission. I need the keys to the cake wagon.”

  “Why?”

  “It matches my shirt.”

  “Did my aunt rope you into delivering a wedding cake today?”

  “Rope,” Jack said, “is not the word. I offered to help out in any way possible, and I got the job of driving the heavy machinery because I’m the man.”

  “Want me to come along?”

  Jack kissed her other temple. “No. Your job is to rest. One more day. Aunt Augusta and I have this under control.”

  “But it’s Saturday, the busiest day at the Point.”

  “That’s why I have all those excellent employees. Besides, I left Evie in charge. I’m not worried.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “THANK GOODNESS YOUR stitches are finally out and those stupid cake classes are over,” Evie said. “The last ten days have been purgatory.”

  “The STRIPE classes were a pain,” Gus said, “but now I’m a little sad. What will I do with those extra twenty hours this week?”

  Evie laughed. “What’s my brother going to do every night? I’m not the only one who noticed he showed up to every class.”

  “He takes cake seriously. Or he could be setting a great example for your summer employees.”

  “Right.”

  Gus frowned and shook her head slowly. “Evie, I’m sorry to tell you this, but I think your brother may be a—” she paused, looking around dramatically and continuing in a whisper “—slow learner.”

  Evie chuckled. “Give me a break. You know as well as I do why he was there.”

  “I do. He felt guilty taking up my valuable baking time and offered to help out. He scrubbed that ballroom floor icing-free every night.”

  “I thought he stayed for a chance to be alone with you,” Evie said.

  “Just once.”

  “And?”

  “A short walk on the beach. No more,” Gus said.

  “If I know my brother, I’d say he wants more.”

  “That’s what he said.”

  “So?”

  “Complications. We’re not exactly in the same pay grade here,” Gus said. “Besides, that was before the whole robbery, getting-whacked-on-the-head incident. Things are...different between us now.”

  “Hmm.”

  “And it’s a long summer. I’m taking things one bite at a time right now.”

  Evie saved her file and closed the laptop, giving her full attention to Gus, who was busy icing red, white and blue cookies. The Fourth of July, the midpoint of summer, was only one day away.

  “Are you staying for the fireworks tomorrow night?”

  “Uh-huh,” Gus said. “I hear it’s a show that rivals Disneyland. Gotta see that. Although I heard the traffic across the Point Bridge is such a snarl that you might as well hang out here after. Maybe I’ll stay all night and get the next morning’s baking done early.”

  “Employees don’t play in the holiday traffic. We party in the staff parking lot. Except the kids with curfews take the ferry to downtown Bayside.”

  “Parking-lot party?” Gus asked. It sounded illegal. But tempting.

  “You have to experience it. Trunks filled with drinks on ice, folding chairs, a portable fire pit. One year we even had a band from the live shows. No rules. Zero chance of sunburn.”

  “And this goes on all night?” Gus asked.

  “Yes.”

  “And security looks the other way?”

  “Only
long enough to get something out of their coolers. And they usually come to the party late along with the kids who direct traffic. Either way, it’s better than sitting on the Point Bridge in a tangle of tourists.”

  Gus finished putting glitter sprinkles on a fireworks cookie. “Sounds like good time management to me. Party until the traffic clears.”

  “Or until everyone gets tired. Or pairs off.”

  Gus looked at Evie and raised her eyebrows.

  “Not necessarily speaking from experience,” Evie said. “But Starlight Point is no stranger to summer romances. You should get in on the action.”

  “I’ll consider it. But I’d have to leave before dawn. Baker’s curse.”

  “You wouldn’t be alone. A little parade of employee cars files out of the lot just before the sun comes up,” Evie said. “I’m lucky. I can just walk home across the parking lot.”

  Gus grinned at the usually straight-laced girl.

  “Does Jack know about this?”

  “He walks home, too.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Name tags are off at the party and everyone just has fun. We call it Midsummer Madness because anything can happen.”

  “I don’t think I—”

  “Don’t say no, Gus. You need to have some fun with the rest of us.”

  “What I was going to say is I don’t think I have a large enough cooler for a huge van like mine. People will have expectations based on relative size. And boy am I going to be conspicuous rolling out of here in the early-morning July-fifth parade.”

  * * *

  JACK STOOD IN the back door of the Midway Bakery until Gus noticed him. She was busy. A long line stretched in front of her bakery and her apron was smeared with icing. A streak of white flour highlighted her cheekbone. Usually neat and in control, she whirled from oven to counter with a tray in each hand. A chunk of long brown hair escaped her hat and she shoved it back with an oven-mitted hand—probably the reason for the flour on her cheek.

  One summer when he was seventeen and running the brake on the Silver Streak, he’d been infatuated with a girl who worked at the guessing booth nearby. All season long, he’d heard her over the microphone guessing ages and weights. Adored her as she handed out stuffed animals and other prizes. All the while willing her to notice the quiet boy with a red name tag that said Jack. She never did.