by Laney Monday
“Speaking of stinky, you weren’t exactly rosy to Will earlier.”
“You’re just worried he’s going to take the fan back.”
“Brenna!”
“Alright. I know. I’ll call him and apologize. It’s just this heat. It’s really getting to me.” And worrying about Millie, who was on life support at the hospital. I had a feeling Will knew that. That was why he’d brought the fan over after I snapped at him. Like a knight in shining armor.
He’d shrugged and claimed he hardly ever used it. Which was probably true, except during heat waves like the one we were having now. I was pretty sure he’d bought that fan some previous summer, precisely for days like this. Bonney Bay’s stores were all out of fans, and Blythe and I hadn’t been able to leave town to find one. We were busy with little Battlers coming out our ears. Bonney Bay Battler judo campers, that is. It’s a good problem to have, I kept repeating to myself.
Except during a heat wave. It had been ninety-five degrees for two days in a row now, and I felt like I was going to die. I was almost ashamed to call myself an Arizonan. But I didn’t remember ninety-five degrees feeling like this in Arizona. And of course, we always had AC to retreat into.
Outside the dojo, Moms sluggishly approached the doors to pick up their kids. They looked pained at leaving their air-conditioned cars.
“Three days ago it was below seventy and pouring down rain. How is this possible?” I moaned.
Blythe just shook her head. “It’s supposed to drop ten degrees tomorrow and rain again, then clear up in time for the Fourth.”
“Thank God.”
“Speaking of the Fourth…”
Oh, no. She had that look in her eye. The same look she had when she told me she’d arranged for me to talk to a few kids at Bonney Bay’s Cherry Orchard Elementary for Fitness Day. “A few kids” turned out to be just about the whole school. And that lovely event—that epic disaster—would forever be known as the C.O.D.C.D. The Cherry Orchard Demon Child Debacle.
“I don’t want to sit in a car and wave at people.”
“Not just a car, Brenna, a float! I was thinking we could rent a flatbed truck. I already looked into it, and—”
“Wait. You want me to stand in the back of a flatbed truck and wave at people?”
“With the kids!”
“No way. I don’t want to be on parade.”
“It’s not going to be you on parade, Brenna! For goodness sake. It’s not always about you.”
“Wow.”
She squeezed my hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I know you really don’t like the attention. It’s for the business. And for the kids. It will give them a chance to show Bonney Bay they’re proud to be Battlers. Forgive me?”
I squeezed back. “You don’t have to apologize. Sometimes I just need to get over myself. And my hang-ups.”
“So, you’ll do it?”
“This would be a business expense?”
“Yep. Tax-deductible. A tax-deductible party with candy and music—”
“Candy and music?” Okay, so this was starting to sound a little better. My Battlers on a sugar high would definitely draw the attention away from me. And I could console myself with chocolate while I waved and smiled.
“The local businesses either have floats or drive a cool antique car in the parade, something like that. They have banners and signs advertising their businesses and they throw candy to the kids. Some of them hand out treats with flyers or invitation cards.”
“Really?” Maybe this whole parade thing wasn’t such a bad idea after all. “I think we should go ahead and rent a flatbed.”
“Perfect! I’ll take care of the details. You won’t have to worry about a thing.”
Why was that reassurance just not reassuring at all?
6
Laughter shook the walls of the old building, and joyful shrieks made my heart leap. I stood clear of the game, watching carefully to make sure none of the little ones got overwhelmed and scared, that no one got hurt.
Sammi ran—as much as someone could run on all fours, in keeping with the “no standing” rule of the game—after ten-year-old Alex. “I got him!”
Sammi wove her hand under his armpit in a perfect half-nelson and turned him over.
“One, two, three, bulldog!” little Grace, my fairy princess, said gleefully. “You’re on our side, now, Alex!”
Sammi had turned her into a bulldog by pinning her on the first round. The rest of the kids who were still “rabbits” crawled on all fours to the other side, trying to make it to the safety zone I’d taped off before they got caught.
Grace pointed out Katie, who was making her way to safety. “Come on, Sammi! Hurry, she’s getting away!”
Grace took off after Katie, but Sammi had another target in mind, Grace’s eight-year-old brother, Anthony.
The temperature was back down in the seventies, and our campers had a good morning on the mat, doing coordination drills, learning a new pin and an escape. We were finishing the session with a game. Kids pretty much universally loved the traditional judo game we called bulldog. They scampered up and down the mat on all fours, trying not to get caught, turned over, and pinned by the kids who were designated bulldogs. When they got caught, they became bulldogs too.
The game went on until only Katie was left for the bulldogs to catch.
“Alright!” Blythe called. “Matte!” Stop, she said in Japanese, the universal language of judo.
“Katie is the champion!” I gave her a pat on the back. “Nice job, Katie.”
Katie’s face turned red, but she smiled.
“Can we play again? Can we?” Ellie begged.
“Maybe this afternoon,” Blythe said. “It’s time for lunch.”
We bowed out and I gave the kids high fives.
“I won,” Katie said to me quietly. Her smile, coupled with the look of absolute astonishment in her eyes, was enough to turn me into a sappy puddle. “I can’t believe it. I never win anything, you know?”
I squeezed her shoulder. I tried to think of something to say that wasn’t too cheesy for a ten-year-old, but all I could think of were things like, You’re always a winner to me! “I’m glad you’re here, Katie,” I said instead. Okay, so it wasn’t profound. But it was true.
“Thanks, Sensei Brenna,” Katie said. And she went to get her lunch.
Katie was sweet and funny. Unfortunately, she’d also earned the nickname Klutzy Katie for good reason. I’d made Sammi the first bulldog, figuring she’d get Katie first so she could have her new friend on her side, but Sammi had focused on capturing the other kids instead. Had Sammi known winning a silly game of bulldog would mean so much to Katie? Sammi liked to play tough, but she really did care.
The kids were still pretty riled up from their game as we sat them down at the two brand-new folding tables we’d bought at Costco. They were too busy sharing their greatest moments of Bulldog glory to pay much attention as Blythe began calling out names and passing around sack lunches. I helped Blythe get the right lunches to the right kids, then popped open the mini fridge and got out the salami and provolone sandwich with pepperoncinis I’d been looking forward to all day. I brought it to the table and sat down between Sammi and Blythe.
Sammi crinkled her nose. “Gross. What is that?”
“This,” I said, holding up half my sandwich, “is a glorious triumph of a sandwich.” I sighed dramatically. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand. Pesto, peppers, red onions…”
All the kids around the table punctuated each ingredient I listed with a chorus of gagging noises.
“One day, kids, you’ll grow up and understand what a real sandwich is.”
Katie rolled her eyes and took an exaggerated bite of peanut butter and jelly.
Sammi told Katie, “Please, do something if I ever get that old and senile.”
“Sammi,” Blythe rebuked her.
But I stuck my tongue out at the kid. That earned me an elbow from my siste
r. Grow up, Brenna. Could I help it if I liked these kids more than I did most grown-ups? Good thing, I guess, since I was stuck with them all day this summer. And most of the evening…
I was going to miss them in the fall. Running this judo camp was kind of like being at the camp I’d dreamed of when I was a kid. Except the mats weren’t in the woods, and there was no fire pit or marshmallow roasting. Or swimming pool, which would’ve been especially nice yesterday. I’ll bet I could’ve boiled pool water just by cannon-balling into it, I was so hot. But still, rolling around the mat with friends, laughing all day. Feeling that hard-work high. I would’ve loved this when I was a kid. Which was probably why I was loving it now. I stared out the window, at the light drizzle sweeping over the sidewalk with each new breath of wind.
“Do you think it’s going to rain on the Fourth of July?” Ellie said.
“I hope not.” Katie took a juicy bite of her peach.
“I wanna be able to see the parade,” said Martin.
“And the fireworks,” Anthony added.
“Speaking of the parade,” I said, “how would you guys like to be in it?”
“On our bikes?” Jeremy took his finger out of his nose.
Blythe caught his hand and attacked it with a disinfectant wipe before he could rub it on the table or his shorts. I swear, he and Ellie had some kind of secret competition going on for the nose-picking championship.
“No, we’re going to make a float,” Blythe announced. “A Bonney Bay Battlers float. I ordered a banner. It should be ready tomorrow.”
Grace waved her hand—still clutching string cheese—in the air and bounced in her seat. “I wanna hold the banner!”
“We’ll all take turns holding it,” Blythe said.
“Are we going to wear our gis?” Katie asked tentatively.
“No,” I assured her. “I think we’ll go for patriotic clothes. If it clears up, it could get pretty hot wearing gis in the sun.” Too bad I hadn’t gotten around to having Battler T-shirts made. That would’ve been perfect.
“But we should do some throws on the float. When it stops, you know?” Sammi said.
“Yeah…” Katie said. “I guess I wouldn’t mind wearing my gi if we were using it, you know?”
Hmm. Now there was an idea. Would the flatbed be big enough for a mat? Some of the kids didn’t quite have the judgment or control to pull something like that off and keep their uke, the person they were throwing, safe and on the float. But Sammi could do it. So could a few of the others…
My phone buzzed, and I checked to see who was texting me. It was Will. “Millie passed away. Thought you’d like to know,” it said.
Oh, no. Not Millie. I blinked back tears and showed the message to Blythe, under the table.
Before I could respond to the text and ask, a new text answered my question. “They just pulled the plug. Doctors say there was no suffering.”
And nothing we could’ve done to prevent it. But maybe there was something we could do about it. I couldn’t stop thinking about that tourist and what she thought she saw. Was it really just a terrible accident? Had someone knocked the ladder over, even unintentionally?
Maybe I just needed to face the fact that there wasn’t always something I could do about whatever went wrong. Sometimes, there wasn’t anything anyone could do. Life wasn’t always just. Sometimes sweet ladies with a gift for bringing beauty into the world fell off of ladders and died. Sometimes there was no one to be brought to justice. Sometimes there was no explanation to be found, except that sometimes death just was.
7
It was Saturday, our day off, and Blythe and I had carefully chosen a sympathy card and agonized over what to write in it for Millie’s husband, Marvin. Marvin owned The Engine, a hobby shop featuring model trains. Blythe had called the shop and confirmed that they were open today. I was a little surprised, but it was understandable. It was a beautiful Saturday during peak tourist season, and just like all the other shops in Bonney Bay, The Engine probably really needed the business. The day after his wife’s passing seemed a little soon for two near strangers to intrude on Marvin’s grief with our condolences, so Blythe and I were headed to The Engine to leave our card with Marvin’s employees.
I paused in front of the bright red shop door, watching a little n-scale train pass through a tunnel in a fake mountain and zip around the track in the window display.
Blythe squeezed my hand. “It’s so sad.”
I nodded. “Let’s see how they’re holding up in there.”
Inside the store, there was a soft undertone of motion, the gentle hum of tiny motors, underlying the whispers of browsing tourists. What was it about the train shop that seemed to call for whispers? Was it the meticulously set up tracks and miniature scenes surrounding the trains? Little made-up towns, not so different from Bonney Bay, frozen in time? Figures stuck in mid-step, mid-wave? Only the trains were alive, clicking along the track, whistling now and then. A little boy around three years old cried out in delight as one of the engines whistled and even released a puff of steam. But even that was hushed. Even such a little kid sensed the seriousness to these toys, to this kind of fun.
I might have thought it was because of Millie’s passing, but I’d been in there before and noticed the spirit of subdued joy. Today, there was an added air of somberness. The customers didn’t seem to notice. They all looked like they were from out of town. But a young store clerk whose name tag said Raya scanned the high shelves with puffy eyes. She stood on a stepladder to reach a small, colorful box. It wobbled a little, and I saw the brief flash of panic, then grief come over her.
“Here you go,” she said sweetly as she handed a grandmother a box containing a bright red caboose. Her smile was genuine but sad.
“Hello. Welcome to The Engine,” Raya said to me and Blythe.
“Thanks,” I replied.
The grandmother handed the box to a bouncing preschooler. “Be careful now.”
They headed for the register, and we lingered there as Raya put the step stool away in the corner.
“Can I help you guys with something? Looking for a gift?”
“Actually, we brought something for Marvin.” Blythe held up the purple envelope.
I said, “Do you think you could pass it along? I mean, if you’re going to see him?”
“Oh, of course. How thoughtful of you. Marvin came in for a few minutes this morning to help open. I’m sure he’ll be here to close. He’s just…devastated, of course. But The Engine is his baby. It was always his dream, to have this shop. I guess it’s all he has left.”
“Has he had the store for long?”
“Only about three years. And it’s been a real struggle.” Raya lowered her voice to a whisper. “Trains aren’t as popular as they used to be.”
“It’s a real niche thing, isn’t it?” Blythe, ever the diplomat, made niche sound elite instead of out of vogue.
“Yeah, I guess it is.” Raya smiled and even puffed up a little—in a good way. “But sometimes it’s hard to make niche pay. About Millie…I heard you were there when it happened. I heard they questioned a woman who took a picture of it.”
“Well…” Blythe said.
“She didn’t exactly have a picture of what happened. She had a picture of a person that she said was near the ladder.”
“Millie wasn’t clumsy.”
“But accidents happen,” I said.
“Sure, but what if it wasn’t an accident?”
I was itching so bad to text Will and ask him if they’d gotten hold of Glenda’s camera. Surely they planned to, just in case. I’d driven by the Cherry Bowl and seen the crime scene tape. Had that woman come down from County to dust the ladder for prints? Or had they just taken pictures? But I knew what Will would say. He couldn’t discuss an ongoing investigation. But he could tell me whether there was an investigation, right?
#
I checked my phone for a reply from Will. My last text, asking him if he was investigating Mill
ie’s death, had gone unanswered even though I’d sent it hours ago, just after we left The Engine. Did silence mean yes, or did it mean he was busy? But then again, busy probably meant yes, too. I had to know, dang it! Well, I didn’t need Will in order to find out. If they were investigating, they’d question her friends and family, and of course her coworkers. Who just happened to be there, at or near the scene of the crime. If I wanted to find out what was going on, all I had to do was go to the Cherry Bowl.
“I feel like ice cream,” I announced.
“You want to go to Shaw’s for a sundae?” Blythe checked the time on her phone. “I think we can just get in before closing.”
Shaw Drug and Hardware Store was the oldest continuing operation of its kind west of the Mississippi and north of the Columbia. In addition to its ghostly legends that helped attract visitors to Bonney Bay, it also featured the best ice cream sundaes on the planet. My mouth watered at the thought of hot fudge oozing over whipped cream topped with chopped peanuts. Not to mention, mocha fudge was the featured flavor this week. Snap out of it, Brenna! I was on a mission. I had to know if Millie was murdered, and if the Bonney Bay PD was doing anything to find out.
“No, it is pretty late. I think I’m just going to go pick something up at the Cherry Bowl real quick.”
“Oh, okay. I’ll come with you.”
I hesitated. “We need to compile that student mailing list, remember? Do you think you could do that while I go pick something up?” I gave her a cheesy smile.
“Well…”
“I’ll feel so much better when it’s done. What should I get for you? Mint chocolate chip? Some sugar cones?”
“Yes! See if they have the chocolate dipped cones.”
“Okay.” Distraction successful! I didn’t want to involve Blythe in this just yet. Especially since there was technically no murder. She didn’t have quite the tolerance for snooping that I did. I had to save up that gung-ho sidekick capital for when I really needed it.
