Sunny Side Up (Lake Erie Mysteries Book 1) (11 page)

The entire space was suddenly flooded with blinding fluorescent light. I stood like a toddler with her hand in the cookie jar for what seemed like an hour, but more likely it was closer to five seconds. Then all bets were off. I dropped the fabulous green bag onto the dirty floor and ran like I was being chased by Satan himself toward the light shining under the garage door. I prayed June was behind me. I improvised a home run slide and rolled like an awkward burrito under the door until I lost momentum and then scrambled the rest of the way from the building back into the shelter of the thin tree line.

I watched as June followed my path and caught up to me seconds later. And then I remembered to breathe. We were stuck, crouched behind some thorny shrubs that may or may not have been poisonous. I hadn’t regulated my breath yet, so I couldn’t question out loud the music I was hearing. This must be it. The angels were playing their trumpets to usher me through the pearly gates. “Celebrate Good Times, Come On!”

It was my phone ringing. It must have fallen out of my pocketbook in the parking lot about three yards from where we were hiding. I didn’t even think about what I was doing as I sprinted out into the open to snatch it then scurry back to our hiding place. “Hamm! Hamm! Where are you? I need to talk to you! Something really bad is going on. I know I promised, but we wanted to help and…”

“Please hold for the next available agent. Your call is important to us…”

“What? Who is this? What do you want?”

I didn’t have time to figure out how the ringtone I had programmed for my husband was now heralding telemarketers. There were a lot of strange things happening, but I needed to focus on the most imminent danger—the stranger in the warehouse. It was time to focus and take action.

I pressed the end call button with more force than necessary. “We can’t take the bike. He’ll see us for sure. We need another way to get back to the ferry without being spotted. There’s a kayak rental place down by the shore and it’s out of sight from the building and where the goon’s golf cart is parked. My chiropractor keeps telling me I should try kayaking as a physical activity. Maybe now’s a good time to start.”

“Really? Does he expect you to kayak three times a week all year? We live in Ohio, remember? Don’t you think running or joining a gym might be a better option?”

“We don’t have time to discuss the pros and cons of kayaking at the moment. Let’s just go rent one and use it to get back to the ferry dock and then back to the mainland. I think we need to get to a safe place and then tell the authorities what we’ve seen here. Hurry, June.”

June didn’t need to be told twice. She took off, her cute, army-boot-styled running shoes kept her sure on her feet as we sprinted across the sand. My fashionable nautical flip-flops matched my outfit perfectly but were not holding up quite as well in the running department. June reached the brightly painted rental kiosk well before me and was stretching her hamstrings when I caught up with her, panting and trying to shake the sand out of my sandals. I approached the rental window, wallet in hand, ready to get on with our plan.

“Hello! Is anybody here? Hello! We need to rent a kayak!” There was no one to be seen anywhere near the rental station.

“Not again! Francie, you better pull a rabbit out of that magic bag of yours. And quick.”

When it comes to improvising, I am nothing if not resourceful.  I dug a page of a play script out of my bag and retrieved a tube of mauve lipstick that did nothing for my olive complexion. It was time to write another IOU, this time to the kayak rental company. Using my increasingly useful cell phone camera, I snapped a photo of June and myself holding the IOU and standing in front of the rental hut, friended the company on Facebook, and uploaded the picture to their business page. Under the picture, in the comment box, I quickly typed the date and our names. At the last minute, I decided to add a smiley face icon just to let the business owners know that we were friendly and trustworthy, not irresponsible jerks trying to take advantage of island hospitality. This was getting too easy.

Anxious to get far away from the dangerous-looking stranger, we chose the kayak we felt was best for the job—the one with the pretty fish mural painted on the side. We each grabbed an end and ran down the beach toward the water. We were ankle-deep in the icy water and about thirty feet off shore when we could finally stop our forward momentum. June held the kayak steady as I hauled myself in and onto the wood bench. June gracefully hopped over the side and planted herself confidently across from me. We each detached an oar from the side clasps and pushed away from the shore.

About fifty yards from land, June stopped rowing and gave me a worried look. “Francie, are you okay? You look a little green around the gills.”

I was frozen in place, staring over June’s shoulder out to the open water. We weren’t even far from shore. Any sane person would have realized she could hop over the side and almost walk the whole distance back to the beach. It was no more than five feet deep in most places, so the worst that would happen might be the need to hop up and down a bit. I, however, had just realized that our prettily painted vessel was not equipped with life preservers.

“Umm, June, remember that thing about me and not knowing how to swim? I really do love being on or near the water, but I’m afraid I never got around to actually learning how to swim in it. Do you think this thing will make it to the ferry dock? I have more shopping to do and wine to drink. I don’t want to die, especially not in a kayak!”

“Don’t worry,” June said with a worried look on her face, not because she too was afraid of meeting an untimely end, but rather because her friend was having a mini-meltdown and she didn’t have time to deal with it at the moment.

“This is a piece of cake, Francie. Just don’t think about it and keep rowing.”

The longer we oared, the harder it was getting for me to breathe. I was pretty sure I was being irrational, but I was also sure I was hyperventilating and didn’t have anything stashed in my handbag to cure this particular condition.

“Why did I ever suggest getting in this deathtrap? And why did you agree to my hair-brained idea?”

“Well, it seemed better than asking the creep in the warehouse for a ride back to town, besides…”

The rest of June’s comment was drowned out by the rumbling of an insane Jet Ski that was headed directly toward us. Just when I thought it would come barreling straight into our kayak, it turned sharply. Icy lake water sprayed high into the air and dropped onto us like frozen rain. I grabbed the edges of the kayak just like June was doing and stared in disbelief as the maniac began circling us in a wild frenzy of waves and spraying water. Just as suddenly as the menacing watercraft had appeared, it took off, heading away from us and around to the other side of the island.

I gulped in my first full breath of air and was about to tell June that we were heading back to take our chances with the knock-off guy when the waves that had been created by the jet ski’s unexplainable circling began to churn and collide with each other. Our boat was being tossed this way and that with the nose dipping lower under water with each wave. I suddenly knew what it felt like to be an ice cube spinning wildly in a blender of margaritas. The water was taking us along on its wild ride and more and more of it was making its way inside the kayak. The nose of our little vessel suddenly dipped so low into the water that I was thrust at least three feet above June’s head. There was no longer even the slightest question in my mind. We were going to get wet and I was going to die.

“Help me! Help me! I’m going to die!” In the blink of an eye, I was airborne and aiming for certain death at the bottom of the lake.

My hero, June, kicked it into high gear. Using her research and experience from one of her latest articles “Women Who Lifeguard” for Hot Mammas magazine, she grabbed me just as I made contact with the water, wrapped her right arm around my waist and buoyed me up so we could both cling to the overturned kayak. “Hang on, Francie! Just hang on. We’ll be fine.”

“I am. I am! But I don’t think I can do this much longer. I’m going to die!”

My hair was plastered to my neck and my eyes were burning from the eye makeup soup streaming down and around them. I had just gulped down what felt like a quart of lake water and couldn’t let go of the side of the boat to pick out a slimy strand of seaweed that was stuck in my teeth. Just when I thought it couldn’t possibly get any worse, it did. The thrumming of a small motor alerted us to the fact that a boat was approaching us from behind. There was no way to turn around without letting go of the hull and ensuring certain death. I scrunched my eyes shut and held my breath. So this was really it.

“I love you, Hammond. Why can’t I ever just take your advice? I’m sorry Beth and Ben. I didn’t mean to screw things up. Please don’t hate me.”

“What in God’s name is going on here? What are you two doing floating around in the middle of the lake? Don’t you know the water is barely forty-five degrees? You could get hypothermia very quickly if you’re not wearing wet suits.”

We of course were not wearing anything of the sort. I have never ever been so glad to have a handsome man see me looking like a refugee clown.

Detective Jack Morgan hauled my water-logged, sobbing body over the side of his official police motorboat while June hopped up and down in the icy water and tried to flip our borrowed kayak over. Once I was seated and breathing reasonably, Morgan handed me an itchy wool blanket that, just then, felt like a cashmere robe wrapped around my shoulders. June launched herself over the side of Morgan’s rescue vessel. She sat on the bottom, folded her arms around her knees, and managed to look cute and innocent. Maybe I need to get my hair cut.

Morgan gave us a moment to recuperate then simply said, “Spill it.”

June went first since I was still wheezing. “Jack, thank you for rescuing us. Did you see the guy on the Jet Ski? He swamped us on purpose! We know who burned down Ruby’s store, and we have evidence.”

Morgan looked skeptical. I was starting to recover so I picked up the story. “There’s something bigger than arson going on here. There’s some sort of merchandise scam going on involving Roger and the guy who flipped us over. I’m sure he’s not the brains of the operation though.”

June interrupted. “I heard them talking behind the house. They said ‘fire,’ ‘merchandise,’ and ‘money’ for sure.”

“Whoa. Back up. Who is ‘them’ and whose property were you trespassing on?”

“We weren’t trespassing!” We both chimed in at once.

June continued our story. “We went to console Ruby and offer to help in any way we could. She’s our friend for crying out loud. We care about her.”

I added, “I was speaking to Ruby, and June went around back to find Roger. She found him all right. He was whispering in the yard with the creepy mystery man. Then we saw him again at the warehouse, the creepy guy, not Roger. We saw him moving boxes of knock-off goods from his van to the warehouse. Then he tried to kill us!”

Morgan cut me off. “Enough! This is not some episode of CSI or a Nancy Drew novel.” He just kept staring from June to me and back to June. “You two need to realize that you are interfering with a real-life police investigation. One in which, I might add, Hamm is a person of interest. Sometimes in real life there is no nice simple answer at the end of an episode as to why bad things happen or people get hurt.”

He turned his back to us, took the wheel, and steered the boat back in the direction of the ferry dock, our defeated kayak trailing limply behind from a tow rope. For a few moments, the only sound was the steady rumble of the boat motor.

June finally couldn’t take it any longer and broke the silence. “We should go back! We can show you where the evidence is. You can find the bad guys and close this case.”

The skipper kept his right hand expertly on the wheel, never veering from his course.

“Ladies, I feel like I’m starting to sound like a broken record, but this is where your part in the investigation ends. Immediately. I will take complete statements from both of you after you dry off and calm down. But then it ends. The police will do their job, and you will do nothing further to compromise this case. Do you understand?” His steely gaze made me feel like I was ten years old and being scolded by the principal for misbehaving (not like that ever really happened).

June turned to Detective Morgan, mollified, and said, “Yes, sir. We understand. We’ll go home now and let you do your job. But please check into what we said. It’s all true. I promise.”

We were silent for the remainder of the short ride back to the island ferry dock. When Morgan pulled up, he left his motor running and looped a line casually around a cleat. I hauled myself over the side of the police boat and stood there awkwardly as the handsome detective put his hands on June’s shoulders and said something to her that was inaudible to me from my vantage point. Their noses were practically touching. I assumed he was giving her one final warning to stay out of his way, but judging by the blush creeping across June’s cheeks and the way Morgan gently tucked a few strands of her wet hair behind her ear, it may have been something a bit more personal. I had to admit, they looked good together. Moving apart while still keeping their eyes firmly locked, he gave June a hand onto the dock.

We had about ten minutes to kill until the next ferry boat back to the mainland would arrive. Morgan gave us one last appraising stare. Then he turned to the gathering crowd and used his voice of authority. “Move along, people. There’s nothing to see here.”

The tourists waiting to board the ferry likely disagreed with the detective’s statement. I was positive there would be a great deal of animated conversation about the two dripping crazy ladies on the ferry over cocktails tonight.

We purchased our return tickets with sopping wet money I managed to scrounge up from the bottom of my bag, which had miraculously stayed crossed over my shoulder during our entire stint in the lake. I looked at the soggy satchel and was thankful I had splurged on the purchase rather than buying a less expensive version of my bag. It had proven to be both sturdy and seaworthy. Huddling together in a thin sunbeam, we tried our best not to stand out like circus freaks who had been pushed into a dunking barrel.

Once we were on the ferry, we slumped on a bench near the back of the vessel and tried to make ourselves as small as possible. I absently began pulling soaked newspaper shreds out of my purse to try to keep my mind from overloading on all of the trouble we had managed to get ourselves into.

“I think you’re going to need a new copy of the paper for your article, June. It turns out The Tribune is not seaworthy.”

“What do you mean? I’m not using anything from The Tribune for an article. The only thing I’m working on right now is this island thing that is turning out to be the exact opposite of the light piece it was supposed to be. Let me see that paper.”

I handed June a piece that was less waterlogged than the rest. It contained the majority of an article and some evidence of red ink.

“That isn’t mine. I just picked that paper up from where Michael had left it so I could stay undercover at the market this morning.”

“Oh, I just assumed you were the one who had circled the article about some millionaire in Chicago who died in a fire. Maybe Michael knew him. Is he from Chicago? Wouldn’t that be interesting?”

As if on cue, a dog began growling from the other side of the ferry. Michael and Gunner were standing at the rail and Sirena was walking past them. Go figure. It’s always when you’re out in public looking like a train wreck that you run into people you know, and it’s usually the people you least want to see. I would love to ask Michael about the newspaper article, but I sure didn’t feel like drawing attention to myself or initiating any conversations in my soggy clothes and squishy shoes. I looked toward the pair, musing over the circled newspaper article and what, if anything, it might mean. Gunner was standing at attention on high alert; his fur stood up on his back, and he was growling at Sirena, who had stopped along the railing just a little way past them. She must not be a dog person.

Another few moments ticked by painfully, but then the sound of a newly familiar voice enticed me to look up. Sirena, looking even lovelier than I remembered, was standing directly in front of us. In her musical voice, she inquired, “What on earth happened to the two of you?”

For a moment, neither June nor I could find appropriate words to answer that question. June wore such a dejected look I was wondering if she was thinking that running into Sirena here on the ferry from Kelleys to the mainland cemented the theory that she had spent the night with Cliff. I know the thought had crossed my mind. I wasn’t sure why the idea bothered her so much though. It’s not like she was interested in getting back together with her ex. Neither of us questioned her about the matter. That would just be rude.

June spoke first. “Sirena, something very sinister is going on around here, and I don’t mean just the fire at Ruby’s. We are positive it wasn’t an accident, and we’re pretty sure we know who started it.”

Sirena looked startled. “How on earth could you know such a thing? The police haven’t even got a clue!”

“We tried to tell Detective Morgan what we discovered,” June explained, “but he didn’t seem to want to listen to us. I heard Roger talking to a very suspicious-looking man the day after the fire, and then we sort of ran into the guy later on, and he sort of tried to kill us.”

“What are you talking about?” Sirena was all ears now. She sat down on the bench seat directly across from us, looked from side to side, then leaned forward with her elbows on her knees and her hands clasped.

I took up the sordid tale from there, adding specific details, while trying not to say anything too specific that might compromise the police investigation. “The unidentified man was selling knock-off products to Ruby and Roger, and probably many others by the amount of evidence we discovered stashed in his hiding place, and passing them off as authentic. When Ruby discovered the deception, she must have threatened to expose him. Then he set fire to her store to destroy the evidence. Now he must be trying to get his merchandise off the island and cover up any paper trail that would lead back to him and incriminate him. We haven’t yet figured out who he is or where he came from, and we have no idea who the poor soul who died in the blaze could have been. As far as we know, no one has been reported missing.”

Sirena listened attentively, her sparkling green eyes fixed upon us in unwavering concentration. When she finally spoke, it was with a generous offer.

“Here, Francie, let me lend you this to keep you from getting hypothermia. You’re still shivering.” She offered me her dry sweater to replace my dripping one. The soft blue fabric matched the shade of my numb lips. I peeled my stretched-out cardigan off, dropped it in a puddle at my feet, and replaced it with Sirena’s floaty, cover-up that still carried a faint scent of her amazing perfume.

“Thanks. That is very kind of you,” I managed to reply through chattering teeth.

“Oh, don’t worry about it. We’ll catch up soon. Please keep me posted on your investigation, and let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

“Thank you. Keep your eyes peeled for anything suspicious and please be careful. There’s a dangerous criminal somewhere nearby.”

Sirena left us and walked completely around the deck, avoiding Michael and his dog. Stopping on the opposite side of the ferry cabin, she sat down by the window and looked pensively out at the gray water of the lake. There was something ominous in the air. In spite of this, or maybe because of it, the rest of the short trip was blessedly uneventful, and no one else intruded on our shivering, sullen silence.

When the ferry stopped on the mainland, we hastened down the gangplank, across the parking lot, and back to my car.

Safely back in familiar surroundings, I let out a huge sigh of relief. Then I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the rear view mirror and gasped.

“Dear Lord! No wonder all those people were staring at us!” I turned to my right and took a closer look at my best friend on the seat beside me and burst into laughter—the kind that makes you gasp for air and grab your ribs.

“What are you laughing at? Are you in shock? Do you have brain damage?”

Just then she stopped talking, took a good close at me and then reached up and turned the rearview mirror toward her so she could inspect her own face. After that, it was all over. She started with a surprised giggle which turned into a chortle and then escalated into full-blown, cackling laughter.

June bent over in the passenger seat, trying to get her act together. She managed to catch her breath and say, “Let’s get home quickly. We’re going to be arrested by the ugly police if we stick around here.”

I got us back to the condo without further incident. In the driveway, I turned to June and said, “Can you come in and maybe stay over? I think we need to talk about what happened and try to figure out what’s going on.”

“No problem. I wasn’t looking forward to spending the night alone on my houseboat anyway. But maybe we should just open a bottle of wine and try to relax tonight. We can debrief in the morning. We could order a pizza.”

“Pizza it is.”

“With extra cheese!” We exclaimed at exactly the same time. Sometimes we scare me.

I pulled out my cell phone, which still seemed to be in working order even after the ordeal in the lake. “I’ll order it now, so we can take showers and change our clothes before it gets here. As you know, some of Beth’s clothes are in the guest room that I’m sure will fit you.”

We went inside and June made herself right at home. She had stayed overnight at the condo enough times that she referred to the guest room as her room. After a quick shower, she looked in the closet and opened several drawers, trying to decide on a comfy outfit. She chose one of Beth’s tank-style tunics, and although they wear the same size, on June’s slight frame, the pretty coral top reached just below her knees.

I showered too and changed into yoga pants and a well-worn, oversized knit shirt. This time comfort won over fashion, hands down.

I gathered up our wet, smelly clothes and was about to toss them in the washing machine when I spotted Sirena’s sweater in the tangled mess. I picked it up, undecided whether to fold it or add it to the laundry pile. I didn’t want to shrink it, so I turned it inside out and checked for the care label. “That was so nice of Sirena to loan me her sweater. I can’t imagine what we looked like to her!”

“Hey, something just fell out of the pocket, Francie. You better not lose something of Sirena’s after everything she’s done for us!”

I read the tag that said “Dry Clean Only,” then bent over to pick up the folded piece of stationery that had fallen from her pocket.

“This looks like some kind of a shopping list or a recipe, but it’s not anything I’d want to eat.”

“Let me see that.” June took the slip of paper from my hand and read the list out loud: wax paper, dryer sheets, glycerin, triethylaluminum, eyelets, potassium permanganate, balloons.

“Seems fairly ordinary to me,” I said, “except for the tri whatever and the pot of pomegranates. Just put it back in the pocket. It’s probably stuff she needs for her shop, or a party, or something. She makes a lot of those fancy candles, soaps, and secret love potions from scratch I hear.”

“I’m sure you’re right. I hope she remembered to get everything on her list. Do you think we should call her and ask her if she needs it?”

“Oh, there’s the doorbell. Dinner is served!”

We spent the rest of the afternoon and evening inside the condo devouring an entire cheese and mushroom pizza with extra cheese, sharing a bottle of California Red, and binge-watching the entire seventh season of Bones on Netflix, even though the weather had finally broken and it had turned into a glorious sunny day. Finally, we were stuffed and bleary-eyed—we had had enough of both pizza and TV.

“I’m exhausted,” I mumbled. “Let’s get some sleep and figure all this out tomorrow. G’night!” I shuffled down the hall to my room and fell into bed.

The next morning, I woke up to the rich smell of the Starbucks Breakfast Blend I love so much. I followed my nose into the kitchen where I found June deep in thought, staring intently out the big picture window at the promise of a new day. The sun was just peeking up over the horizon. It was such a beautiful vista that for a second I forgot about the events of the previous day and just stood there in my bare feet silently gazing out at the lawn and the lake beyond. Without wanting to break the mood with words, I headed for the refrigerator where I pulled out a dozen eggs, shredded cheddar, shredded mozzarella, an onion, fresh spinach, and mushrooms. Halfway through my omelet preparation, I went back to the fridge to retrieve a chunk of Swiss cheese. This was definitely going to be another “extra cheese” moment.

June poured a second mug of coffee, added a splash of cream and two spoonfuls of sugar, then sat at the kitchen table while I finished preparing our breakfast.

“We need a plan, Francie,” she said to my back. “We’ll need more photos of the fake merchandise and the hiding place. Maybe we can find some more clues or evidence. We need to get some names or addresses so we can identify whoever is behind this whole mess. If we want Morgan to take us seriously and arrest this criminal, we’re going to have to give the police something solid so they can get a conviction and make it stick.”

I joined June at the table and placed a plate containing a perfectly executed cheesy omelet in front of her. “Yes. Then we can get Detective Morgan to clear up any suspicions about Hamm and prove that the creepy stranger is behind this whole ugly mess. I still haven’t been able to reach Hamm. I’m genuinely starting to worry. I know he said he had a major case issue that came up, but he still should have checked in by now.”