“We are going to do no such thing. There is nothing to check out. You are going to pick up your bag of produce, sit your butt in my golf cart, and be very, very quiet all the way back home. Honestly, June, sometimes you’re even too much for me.”
“But, Francie, I’m sure it was her. She might need our help.”
“Think about it. If she’s been back there for twenty-five minutes, the only thing she might need is a blanket because she must be napping. Now, come on please. Let’s go.”
It’s really not like me to be the voice of reason, but for once I really believed that June’s imagination had taken a turn down a dark path.
“Okay, Francie, you win. It does sound a bit ridiculous when you say it out loud, but I’m not leaving until I know Sirena isn’t sneaking around on Cliff and getting herself in trouble. Let’s just take a quick peek behind the barn and then we can leave.”
I may not be an investigative journalist or a detective, but I do have a pretty good spidey-sense. And right now, the hairs on the back of my neck were standing at attention. Something was telling me that nothing good would come of this. I also knew, however, that June would not let it go. She would investigate on her own if I refused to tag along, and who knows what she would get herself into. So against my better judgment, I got to my feet and followed her in the direction of the big weathered barn.
We were about fifty feet from the old building when June’s phone began ringing out the Carly Simon classic “You’re So Vain.” There was no doubt in my mind about the identity of the person trying to reach her. She stopped and answered Cliff’s call, and from what I gathered from her side of the conversation, it didn’t sound like a social call.
While I waited for June to finish up, I wandered over to the section of the market where the artisan and crafts booths were grouped. I was pleased to see the Relaxed Crafts sign displayed on a nearby table under an attractive canopy, so I moseyed over to see what was new this season.
“Hi, John! I’m glad to see you haven’t given up your hobby.”
“Hi to you too, Francie! It’s so good to see you again. I’d ask you how your winter was, but what’s the point of that? The sun is shining and I’ve got lots of inventory thanks to my hobby. It’s what kept me sane when we were stuck in the house during all those snow storms. The only trick is I have to be careful not to take on too many projects at once now that summer’s here again.”
“That’s so true,” I replied. “It’s all about finding the right balance, isn’t it?”
“Yes and speaking of balance, I have something here I know you’re going to like.”
Not only was John a talented craftsman, he also had a real knack for sales. He directed my attention to a beautiful, monogrammed mahogany self-balancing wine bottle holder. It seemed to defy gravity; the bottle in the wood holder seemed to be “floating” perpendicular to the table.
“I’ve never seen anything like that. It’s beautiful! Of course I’ll be needing one.”
“I have your address on file. I can ship it to your home. You haven’t moved, have you?”
“No. Still in the same place. I’d like the darker stain and an ‘E’ for the monogram.”
I was still carrying the newspaper I had picked up from our “hiding spot” but needed my free hand so I could locate my glasses and sign for my purchases. I was about to ask John to throw the paper away for me when I noticed an article circled several times in red ink. The headline read “Chicago Millionaire Philanthropist Dies In House Fire: Valuable Coin Collection Still Missing.” I figured June must have been doing some digging for a new story while she was waiting for me to meet her so I tucked the paper into my bag, found my glasses and credit card, and signed for my purchase.
Just as John was handing back my credit card, June approached, disconnecting from her call.
“Well? What was that all about?”
“It was Cliff,” she said, sounding exasperated.
“I gathered that. What did he want? Was he looking for Sirena?”
June looked a bit sheepish. “No. I could clearly hear a lady’s voice giggling in the background. I mean, very clearly. It turns out that Cliff has been staying in a room at the same B&B where I was registered, and I’m assuming Sirena must have spent the night there with him.”
Pulling at strands of her hair and clearing her throat, she continued. “Anyhow, this morning, the innkeeper made the connection between Cliff and I because the two of us had stayed there together on a few occasions. He mentioned that I had left the bed and breakfast but I hadn’t officially checked out. He wanted to rent the room out, but wasn’t sure what to do since I had left a few personal belongings in the room. Cliff said he would contact me and find out what my plans were and what was going on. Somehow he ended up volunteering to take my things and make sure they were returned to me.”
“That would never happen in the city. Islands certainly have their own set of rules. I’m assuming Cliff wasn’t very happy about the task.”
“Not really. He said he was planning to spend the whole weekend ‘relaxing,’ but that if he came back to the mainland, he would leave my bags with Steve at the guard booth.”
“So, Sirena has been with him this whole morning?”
June was looking suitably embarrassed as she replied, “Yes. At least, it appears she was.”
I knew from experience that June could take pouting to a whole new level, so I just breathed a sigh of relief, thankful our snooping adventure was unexpectedly cancelled and changed the subject to whether or not I should buy a second floating wine holder for the condo. She knew what I was doing, gratefully took the easy out, and helped me select my second purchase.
A tap on my shoulder startled me into a quick turn, and I came within an inch of running smack dab into Roger Burns. “Oh, hi there, Roger. What are you doing way over here on the mainland this morning?”
“Sorry I startled you. I thought you saw me earlier over by the barn. I figured you were heading over to say hello, and I didn’t want to be rude.”
“I didn’t even see you. I guess I was concentrating on finding June, and then I got sidetracked by a little shopping. It’s nice to see you though. Is Ruby here as well?”
“Uh, no she isn’t. I just had some business to take care of. Well, take care. See you soon.”
June and I stared at Roger’s back as he disappeared as quickly as he had arrived.
Our ride back to Beacon Pointe was sweetly uneventful.
By the time Hamm returned to the condo, laden with bags of nautical supplies, June and I were elbow deep in the kitchen, working on our respective dishes for the yacht club Memorial Day cookout later that evening. This was more like it: fresh ingredients from the market, Bloody Mary’s in a pitcher, cheese snacks on a plate, and the island sounds of Jimmy Buffet inviting us to find that lost shaker of salt. Hamm made himself comfortable on a stool at the kitchen counter, poured himself a drink, and spread some hot pepper jelly and cream cheese on a wheat cracker. Finally, the mood had lightened up a bit, and things were returning to a normal weekend pattern.
Hamm had chilled out and I was happy to discover he was in a talkative mood. “Honey, do you remember the Memorial Day excitement we had back when the kids were ten years old?”
“Do you mean the striking matches in the pocket excitement? How could I forget?”
“I know, right? We should write a book about the devilish shenanigans of pre-teens. On second thought, we probably shouldn’t proudly announce and describe in detail all the wool they managed to pull over our eyes.”
June swiveled her bar stool to face us. “Oh, this one I have got to hear.”
I smiled, thinking back to the return trip home from our Memorial Day weekend ten years ago. We had spent three days swimming at the beach, playing in the park, and watching fireworks from the back of the boat and were all exhausted on our car ride back home. The twins were in the backseat carrying on with their usual antics: teasing, poking, and generally just anno
ying each other. It was a typical ride home until smoke started filling the interior of the car and Ben yelled to pull over. Hamm swerved off the highway and Ben wasted no time jumping out of the car and proceeding to drop his shorts to the ground while running in circles and squealing. It turned out he had snuck some striking matches from the box by our grill in hopes of finding some sparklers or smoke bombs to claim for his own fireworks display. He never got around to using the matches for his intended purpose, thank goodness, but during their back seat scuffle, Ben wouldn’t stop teasing Beth, so Beth punched him in the leg repeatedly, and the matches did what they were designed to do—they ignited. The rest is history. This put a whole new spin on the phrase, “Liar, liar pants on fire.”
By the end of my rendition, June was laughing so hard she snorted. “How have I never heard that one before? I’m glad the kids were okay, but how long were they grounded for that little episode?”
“Let’s just say, the yard looked really nice for the rest of the summer, compliments of Beth and Ben landscaping.”
Chapter Thirteen
We arrived at the club around five o’clock. The doublewide trailer that was home to the yacht club, at least for one more year, had gotten a fresh coat of white paint this spring. The giant brass anchor fastened to the front of the clubhouse had been recently shined, and one of the green-thumbed members had planted red and white Impatiens in the freshly mulched beds out front. Hamm and I walked around back to the kitchen entrance so I could drop off my dish of secret-recipe pasta salad, adding it to the assortment of platters and dishes abundant with appetizers, desserts, and salads already covering the counters. While I arranged my plate among the other salads, Hamm scanned all of the tables until he located June’s strawberry rhubarb pie. Relieved, he smiled contentedly and headed out the kitchen door to join a group of friends we hadn’t seen since fall.
The party was gearing up. Fragrant smoke swirled up from the two forty-inch gas grills on the back patio. Red, white, and blue lanterns glowed invitingly above the picnic tables overlooking the beach. Each table had been decorated with sand buckets sporting tiny American flags and patriotic pinwheels twirling in the breeze. I was excited to see one of my favorite summertime bands, the Rolling Hams, was doing its sound check on the patio.
I was glad things worked out the way they had. Yacht club parties were always a good time, and the way the resort kept expanding and adding houses and pools and restaurants, our little club, sitting on a prime piece of beachfront real estate, was most likely on the verge of extinction. Most of the members, like Hamm and I, were determined to enjoy the facilities until we were chased out by bulldozers.
After our trip down memory lane earlier, I was aware of how much I wished our children were here with us this year. It’s hard letting go so they could make their own memories. I hoped they were enjoying their camping trip to Hocking Hills. They had reconnected with some mutual friends from high school and decided to spend a few days together before resuming their separate paths.
“Hey, Francie! Over here!” I looked in the direction of the bar where I instantly spotted June, drink already in hand. In honor of Memorial Day, she wore a sequined red tank top, blue shorts and a headband with a large silver star. On her feet were silver wedge sandals, and her toenails were painted red with little white stars decorating the center of each one. This latest outfit was one for the books, but somehow she always pulled it off. I wondered when she had time to change the streak in her hair from turquoise to royal blue. I must say, it brought out the color of her eyes.
My own patriotic ensemble was of a more classic variety. I chose my navy blue and white-striped maxi skirt, slit up the right side, and a solid navy V-neck top which showed off the curves I had worked on all winter. I was feeling pretty, and the red sandals I had on the night before were going to keep my tootsies cool and comfortable all night. I had twisted my hair into a loose ponytail, letting random strands curl around my face. Silver hoop earrings completed my outfit.
I ordered a glass of red wine at the bar, but before I could compliment June on her fashion sense, my attention was diverted to the big-screen TV inside the clubhouse. A crowd was quickly gathering, and I stretched my neck to see what all the fuss was about. What I saw was Clifton Sterling’s network rival, Linda Langley, delivering a breaking news update.
“The inferno completely destroyed a local family-owned boutique on picturesque Kelleys Island. Fire marshals are investigating the cause of the blaze. We don’t have many details yet, but we will update this story for you as soon as we receive more information. Tune in at eleven.”
Linda flashed her award-winning smile just as images of Ruby’s Treasure Chest—before and after the blaze—appeared on the screen. Seconds later, the newscast blinked forward to the next featured thirty-second disaster. June and I mirrored wide-open eyes and mouths, grabbed our drinks, and made a beeline for the bathroom to process this shocking news.
“We were just there! Poor Ruby! Poor Roger! What does all this mean? I can’t imagine who could have done this. Do you think it was an accident?”
We sucked in air at the same time and stood staring at one another in the new silence.
June took a deep breath before asking, “Do you think Hamm knows something? Did he say anything to you last night? He must know something. Why else would he have been acting so strangely last night?”
My mind was reeling. I remembered my husband’s torn, dirty clothes; that smoky, sweet odor that clung to him; and his strange behavior. His explanation for all of these things had to be the truth. I believed him, of course, but so much was happening so quickly I was having difficulty processing everything.
“Come on, Francie. Let’s go back outside.” June’s warm, steady hand was on my elbow, guiding me out the door and back to the party where everything looked natural and unexceptional.
I scanned the crowd for Hamm, trying to ignore the sense of dread rising like a yeasty loaf in my stomach. I needed to see him, put my arms around him, look into his eyes. I really needed to talk to him.
“There he is, June. I need to find out what’s going on. Stay here.”
“No way I’m standing by and missing the scoop. No way! Let’s go.”
Hamm was on the beach, staring across the water in the direction of Kelleys Island. He looked like a stone statue silhouetted against the marble sky. Detective Morgan was walking toward him. June and I made our way through the crowd of friends and club acquaintances who were busy trying to get the scoop on the fire. Snippets of theories and speculations brushed by us as we kept our course toward the two men.
I was about to call out a greeting as soon as we cleared the party but changed my mind and held my tongue when I heard Morgan’s voice.
“I’ll stay in touch. Don’t make any plans to leave town for a while.”
Hamm appeared calm and relaxed when Morgan turned back toward him. “Hey, do you happen to have a light? This time I saved my daily indulgence for tonight.” He casually pointed a cigar in Hamm’s direction.
“Sorry, Jack, my lighter went missing some time last night, probably when we were at the Island House. Seems like I’ve had problems holding on to that thing lately.”
Morgan narrowed his eyes but said nothing. He stood for a few seconds without moving, then turned back toward the club and walked in our direction. We weren’t exactly spying, or even eavesdropping, but somehow I felt like we’d been caught red-handed.
“Good evening ladies. It’s a great night for a party.” He gave June an appraising look from her headband right down to her painted toes. I wouldn’t have been surprised if the sand under her feet turned to glass from all of the heat emanating between them. “I wish I could stay for the festivities, but duty calls. Night, June.” I thought I heard him humming as he walked away.
June stood melted to the sand, watching Jack leave, but I made a beeline for Hammond. “Oh, honey, what was that all about? Was Jack questioning you? What did he want? What did you say? Where is
he going now? Does he think…?”
Hamm placed his strong hands on my shoulders and looked me in the eyes. “First of all, Francesca, breathe.”
I gulped a mouthful of air and waited. He glanced at June, still standing a few paces off then directed his gaze back to my face. “Listen, everything is fine. Morgan is just doing his job. He wondered if we saw or heard anything out of the ordinary last night. That’s all. Just routine.”
“So he told you about Ruby’s? Can you believe it? We just caught the newscast at the club. I’m still in shock.”
Hamm softly repeated, “Just routine, just doing his job.” I wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince me or himself.
“Come on. Let’s go back to the party. I could use a drink.”
I looked down at my empty wine glass. “I couldn’t agree more.”
June followed us up the beach about a half step behind then veered off toward a trio of friends on the patio. Hamm and I made our way to the bar where he ordered a double Jack on ice and another glass of red wine for me.
“Hey, Hamm! I see your wish finally came true! You’ve been saying for years that you were planning night maneuvers to get rid of the evil red door and everything behind it!”
“Good job, buddy! You’ve done all of us husbands a favor and saved us all tons of cash!”
The ribbing was coming from all around us. “Hey, Francie, I guess you brought home just one too many of those little red bags from Ruby’s!”
Sunny Side Up (Lake Erie Mysteries Book 1) Page 8
