1 Sunshine Hunter

by Maddie Cochere

Darby looked at me with some confusion and asked, “Have you been tracking down bad guys?”

  “Oh my gosh! I almost forgot to tell you. I saw the Thursday night man, whose real name is Jim, and I followed him, and he’s not a bad guy.” I slowed down, started slicing the bread, and said wistfully, “He’s a really good guy. I feel badly I thought he was behind Jerry’s murder.”

  I filled Darby in on Jerry’s story and how much I liked Dorothy and Jim. “They need help with their website and marketing, so I gave them your number.”

  He raised an eyebrow at me.

  “Don’t worry,” I told him. “I’ll take you to meet them before they ever have a chance to call you. I’ll be going back for more cookies anyway, and you can come with me. They’re friends of Stan and Louise, and I know you’ll like them.”

  I grilled the assembled sandwiches, and we sat down to eat. “Now tell me what happened to Johnny,” I insisted. “Did he change his mind about coming?”

  “No, he didn’t,” Darby said with a chuckle. “We talked early this morning and decided he would pick me up at the hotel and we would go to the airport together. That way he could bring a bag for me to pack the rest of my clothes, and he could leave his car in long-term parking so it would be there for him when he got back.”

  He took a couple of big bites of his sandwich and said with his mouth full, “You know, I never get tired of these. You do everything perfectly, but I think the Russian dressing you make puts them over the top.” He followed the comment with a long drink of his raspberry iced tea.

  “Darby, come on! Tell me your story!” I barked at him. He was deliberately milking this.

  He laughed and said, “Ok, hold your horses. It’s coming. We made it to the airport just fine. There was nothing out of the ordinary and no sign of Wicker Barnes. Johnny was just Johnny this morning, and it was nice to be able to talk with him.”

  He took another bite of his sandwich and continued with his mouth mostly full, “We got on the airplane, stowed our carry-on bags, and sat down in our seats. I was by the window, and Johnny took the aisle seat so he could stretch out. There wasn’t anyone seated between us.”

  “Lucky you guys,” I said. He grinned.

  “We thought the plane was completely boarded, and then guess who got on? Wicker Barnes.”

  “No way! You’re kidding!” I shouted. I was truly shocked. “Were you afraid?”

  “No, not afraid, but a little concerned. Johnny saw him right away, too, but he was subdued and didn’t react. I think the boat and shark incident yesterday took quite a bit of the theatrics out of him. At least it did for a while,” he said smiling again.

  “Ok, then what?” I prodded. I wanted to hear this story as fast as I could.

  “We’d only been in the air about an hour when ol’ Wicker started walking up and down the aisles looking at people. He went up and back, and then did it again. I put my head down so I wouldn’t make eye contact with him, so I don’t know if he recognized me and Johnny or not. He was most likely looking for you and had his sights set for a girl.”

  Even knowing the police were looking for him, I was still startled by this. How could Darby think this was humorous?

  “About ten minutes later, he did it again – up and back, up and back. When he went for a third pass, Johnny couldn’t take it anymore. He stood up and blocked Wicker’s way. He put on an urban character and gave it to Wicker with both barrels.” He stopped and smiled again.

  “What? What?” I couldn’t wait to hear this. “Tell me what he did!”

  Darby laughed out loud. “Johnny had one hand on his hip, he was shaking his head back and forth, and he was snapping his fingers in a z formation with the other hand.” Darby leaned back in his chair to mimic the position that Johnny had taken and continued in a high-pitched voice, “He got right in Wicker’s face and said, ‘What do you think you’re doin’ walkin’ up and down this aisle every two minutes? You’re makin’ me nervous. Are you a terrorist? Are you tryin’ to scare everyone? You need to take your seat and quit walkin’ through here lookin’ at everybody’s faces. You might look like Marlon Brando, but I think you’re a terrorist all up in here tryin’ to scare everyone.’”

  My mouth was hanging open. “He used the word terrorist on an airplane?” I asked.

  “He sure did,” Darby said laughing harder. “Wicker pushed him and told him to get out of his way. Johnny pushed him back and said, ‘Oh no, you didn’t. You don’t get to push me,’ and they started throwing punches! People started to scream, and the air marshal finally got in between them. The plane was diverted to Charlotte, and the police were waiting for them when we landed.”

  “Oh, Darby, that’s terrible,” I said. “Poor Johnny.” I wasn’t sure this was as humorous as Darby was making it out to be.

  “Maybe poor Johnny,” he acknowledged. “But he winked at me right before he was ushered off the plane. I think once he tells his side of the story, and what he knows about Wicker Barnes, they might go easy on him.”

  “Do you think Johnny intended to get thrown off the plane?” I asked.

  “I do,” he said. “You didn’t need Wicker coming back here to Ohio, and I think Johnny wanted to put him in the hands of the police.”

  “I’m stunned,” I said. “That was a stupid but brave thing to do.”

  I sat for a moment thinking of how Johnny had intervened for me. I hoped he wouldn’t end up in jail over this. I tried to picture him taking on Wicker on the airplane, and I had to admit, knowing how over-the-top Johnny could be, it had probably been very funny.

  I looked at Darby. He was well into his second sandwich by now. “Now that the week is over, and you’re home, do you have any thoughts about a relationship with Johnny?” I asked.

  “Yes,” he said as he looked across the table at me, “but the answer is no. The sparks were never really there, and although I like Johnny, his ability to put on different personas at the drop of a hat is kind of hard for me to deal with. I’d like someone who isn’t quite so interesting.”

  “Well, you can travel some more and meet new people” I told him with a smile. “But I’m not going with you next time.”

  “As a matter of fact,” he said, “I might go back to St. Pete in a couple of months.”

  My mouth dropped open. “Why? Why on earth would you want to go back there?”

  He smiled a big smile; his eyes were twinkling. “Remember the afternoon desk clerk? His name is Nate, and there may have been a few sparks there.” We both burst out laughing.

  We were done eating, and we were stuffed. We did a fast clean up in the kitchen. “Want to hang around and watch some television for a while?” I asked him. “I’m working at the club tonight, but I don’t have to go in until 9:00. You can work on the Jack, and I’ll have a glass of wine.”

  We moved to the living room and settled into our usual spots on the sofa.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “I need an EMT unit at 4337 Ridgewood Dr. for a head injury.”

  When you put four men who have been drinking beer on a racquetball court, and give them hard racquets and balls, bad things happen. Especially when they aren’t experienced players and they decide it’s a good idea to play doubles.

  I was calling for help for one of the men who had just been cracked upside the head with a racquet. He was bleeding all over court number one.

  Although not common, we did have occasional accidents at the club. The local EMT guys knew the address was Carbide Racquet & Fitness, and I didn’t have to say anything more.

  The door to the court was propped open, and I could hear the man who hit him saying, “I didn’t mean it. It was an accident. Come on, Tom, I didn’t hit you on purpose.”

  I let out a chuckle. It wasn’t the first time someone thought they had been hit by a racquet or ball on purpose. I had taken a quick look at the cut on his forehead before I called the ambulance, and it looked more like a glancing blow rather than a full-on hit. He would need a couple of stitche
s, but would likely be just fine.

  The club was busy, and a crowd had gathered in the lobby to see what was going on. There was really nothing to see, but if it looks like it might be exciting, everyone wants to be in on it. I could hear the ambulance in the distance and knew the EMTs would be at the club shortly. I left the desk and asked the people nearest the door to make a path.

  As Tom Decker was being loaded into the ambulance, he was promising his friends he would be back as soon as he got his stitches to “kick your butts.”

  I swear it wasn’t 15 minutes later and Janice Lockhart, back on court number eight, smacked her face into the wall. Her husband helped her to the lobby, and I gave her an ice pack. “Did you black out? Are you dizzy? Do you want me to call an ambulance?” I asked her.

  “No, no, Susan,” she said. “I feel fine. I smacked into the wall with my cheekbone, and I think it will just be a black eye and a bruise.”

  “How did you fall?” I asked her. “Did you trip?

  Her husband piped up, “I’ve been teaching her to dive for balls.”

  I was aghast. “Janice, you don’t practice diving for balls. That’s so dangerous, and you could have been hurt much worse.” I turned and admonished Mr. Lockhart, “Jack, you’ve watched a lot of matches, and you know full well the good players in this club rarely dive for balls. Even if you’re able to return the shot, it’s usually so weak it’s an easy setup for your opponent.” I sighed. “Teach Janice to play well, and you won’t have to worry about diving for balls.”

  I turned back to Mrs. Lockhart. A guest of one of the club members was bending over her applying something to her face. “What are you doing?” I asked him in disbelief that he had intervened and was touching her.

  “Tiger balm,” he said. “I’ve always got it in my bag; never leave home without it. You crack something on the floor or the wall, you rub it with tiger balm, and you won’t have pain or a bruise the next day.”

  I wanted to go outside and check for a full moon, and it was only 10:30. The group in the pub was getting louder by the minute. It was going to be a long couple of hours before I could go home and go to bed.

  Surprisingly, the rest of the evening turned out to be extremely enjoyable. Corey, one of the Class A players in our club, parked on a stool at the counter for a couple of beers and chatted with me for over an hour. We talked strategy, and he gave me some good tips for the upcoming tournament in the fall. Tom Decker didn’t come back from the hospital, and the Lockharts had quit playing for the evening and had moseyed on up to the pub. By midnight, all of the courts were empty and members and guests were either showering in the locker rooms or up in the pub, where our weekend bartender, Ron, would have everything under control no matter how rowdy it became.

  I had some down time to lean against the counter and wait for locker keys and towels to start coming back in. I yawned. I was tired. It had been a really long day. I hadn’t had time to call Samantha and fill her in on so many things that had happened since we last talked. I would have to do that tomorrow. I wondered if Mick had found out anything about Wicker Barnes. Wicker. Thank goodness he was in Charlotte. I shook my head and smiled again thinking about that crazy Johnny.

  At 12:50, Ron started ushering members out of the pub and out the front door. I turned off all of the lights to the courts. Ron went back upstairs, but came down to the desk a few minutes later and said, “Everyone’s out.” He logged his hours on his time card. “I checked the men’s locker room, too, and everything’s clear. I turned off the sauna and the whirlpool, so you don’t have to go up there if you don’t want to.”

  “Thanks, Ron,” I said. “I appreciate it.”

  “Do you want me to stick around until you’re finished and walk out with you?” he asked.

  “No thanks. I’ve got it,” I said. “I already checked the back doors, and they’re locked. I just need to make a pass through the women’s locker room. I’ll be fine.”

  “Ok, Susan,” he said. “See you tomorrow night.” He left the building.

  Most of the time I didn’t mind being in the club alone. Sometimes I would lock the front doors and relax in the whirlpool or sauna before heading for home at 2:00 in the morning. But sometimes the big empty building gave me the creeps. Tonight was a creep night. It had been a creepy week.

  Everyone was out of the women’s locker room. I turned off the sauna and the whirlpool, turned out the lights, and went back to the lobby. In the office, I threw the main switch for all of the club lights to include the parking lot lights. The only lighting remaining was from a few low-light emergency lights that dimly lit the lobby all through the night.

  I went behind the counter to get my purse. As I reached down into the cubby under the register, the hair on the back of my neck stood up, and a chill went through my body. I was certain I had just heard a court door. Usually the doors bang and make a loud echo when they close. This was a much softer version, barely perceptible.

  I picked up a rental racquet in case I needed a weapon and softly tip-toed to peek around the corner and peer down the darkened hallway. There was no one there. I walked softly to the other side of the lobby and peered down the hallway to the second half of the courts. No one was there either.

  I was probably feeling spooked from everything that had happened this week. It was possible a door hadn’t quite shut all the way, and in the quiet of the moment, I heard its final closing sound as it seated into the jamb. I relaxed my grip on the racquet and turned to go back and retrieve my purse. My heart stopped. There on the other side of the lobby stood Wicker Barnes.

  I wanted to be brave, but the panic was coming up fast. I thought about bolting for an exit door and tried to gauge the distance between me and the front entrance, but I knew he would overtake me before I could get out. I hoped I could hold my voice steady to conceal the terror I felt. “What are you doing here?” I called over to him. “What do you want with me?”

  He stepped toward me and said, “You had to ruin everything, didn’t you? You just couldn’t leave Mick alone, could you?” He was speaking in dark, angry tones.

  “I … I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I stammered, looking around to see somewhere to run to, somewhere to hide.

  “If you wouldn’t have come along, Mick wouldn’t have left Jenny. If you had any morals at all, you wouldn’t be sleeping with a married man.”

  Sleeping with a married man? We weren’t sleeping together. And morals? Who was he to talk about morals? He was Jenny’s boyfriend! But I had enough of my wits about me to not bring any of that up. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I told him as I positioned myself so a table and lounging sofa separated us.

  He came another step closer. I could see he had a racquet in his hand; I clenched the racquet I was holding tighter. “Jenny and I were doing just fine with the way things were. Then you came along and took Mick away, and it ruined everything. I have to fix this,” he said angrily. “I have to make this right again. You have to go.”

  He came running at me with the racquet raised above his head. He had a crazed look on his face. Oh my gosh! I was in a bad movie with a crazy cable guy who might as well have a knife in his hand. He was going to carve me up with the racquet!

  The panic was full-on now. I screamed and made a run for the main doors. I didn’t even have a chance to open them before he tackled me. We hit the floor so hard, the wind came out of both of us, and our racquets went flying. I tried to get up and was half crawling away, but he pulled me back, first by my legs, then my shirt, then my hair.

  I was hyperventilating, gasping for air, and I couldn’t scream. I flipped over and wrested my hair from his grip. We were still on the floor but facing each other now. We both pushed up onto our knees at the same time. He reached out to grab me, and I started punching at him as fast as I could. I landed a blow to his mouth. His anger was fueled and the real battle began. We were slapping, scratching, and punching at each other like a couple of cyclones. It surely
looked more like a cat fight than a beating. One of us was going to wear out first, and it wasn’t going to be me. I knew when you were on the ground, your best weapon was your feet, and kicking was the best thing you could do.

  Survival instinct took over, and I startled Wicker by quickly dropping onto my back and throwing my feet up. I started kicking him hard. After just a few kicks, I landed a shoe to his groin. He let out a howl, and I knew he was hurt, but instead of clutching himself and rolling around in agony as I expected, he was only disabled for a few seconds and seemed more enraged.

  I managed to get to my feet. I turned to run across the lobby and promptly tripped on my pink shoelaces which had come undone with the kicking. I was propelled face first into the floor and was barely able to get my hands in front of me in time to keep from breaking my nose. I stood up again and looked behind me to see where Wicker was. I never saw the racquet that came crashing into the side of my head as Wicker swung it with all his might. I blacked out and crumpled to the floor.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  There was a shark in the whirlpool, and he had pink shoelaces in his teeth. Why was there a shark in the whirlpool? I wanted my pink laces back, but if I tried to get them, jaws there would attack me. Well, he could have them. I didn’t need a trademark anyway. I would just turn the whirlpool off and get another trademark. But my head hurts, and I can’t find the switch.

  “Susan. Susan, sweetheart, can you hear me?”

  I was coming to and moaning. My head hurt. I barely opened my eyes. I could see bright lights and lockers. I could hear a whirlpool. I had to be in a locker room. I closed my eyes again.

  “Susan. The paramedics are on their way.”

  The voice was soft and so far away. I realized I was on a hard floor, but someone was holding me. Strong arms holding me close against a solid chest. I forced my eyes open. I looked up into his beautiful hazel-green eyes. “Mick,” was all I could whisper before passing out again.

  Chapter Sixteen