Sunny Side Up (Lake Erie Mysteries Book 1) (16 page)

I tried Hamm’s cell phone first. It went right to voicemail, and when I tried to leave a message, I was informed by that ever-annoying voice that the mailbox was full.

Next I tried our home phone in case, for some reason, he was there. Maybe he didn’t feel well. Maybe, maybe, maybe. This time the voice that answered was my own. I didn’t bother to listen to the cheery greeting since I didn’t really expect to reach him there. I disconnected call number two.

I saved his office for last. I felt that if he were anywhere, this would be the place. His assistant, Liz, answered on the second ring. I wasn’t surprised she was in the office, even though it was the holiday weekend; she was young, ambitious, and worked crazy hours because she chose to, not because she was required to.

“I haven’t seen him since last Thursday, Francie. He hasn’t returned my calls, and he’s due in court early tomorrow morning. There’s a lot on his agenda right now, and I was hoping to hear from him.”

I heard the snap of her gum before she continued. “Quite frankly, I’m getting concerned. This isn’t like Mr. Egge. He usually checks in several times a day when he’s out of the office.”

I knew that! I needed to scream and pound on something, but instead I politely thanked Liz, disconnected the call, and handed Sirena’s phone back to her without a word. I didn’t know what to think about any of this.

June immediately picked up on the fear and tension in my face. “Sweetie, Hamm’s probably running all over town, getting all his work done. You know how he is when he gets focused on something.”

Sirena chimed in. “Yes. I bet he’s at the courthouse or somewhere preparing for his case. He’ll call you back as soon as he can.”

What could I do? Absolutely nothing, so I sipped on my wine.

Hundreds of unanswered questions and awful, Lifetime TV-inspired scenarios ricocheted crazily inside my skull, adding to the nagging headache I had developed along the way. Something was definitely wrong, but what? I had absolutely no clue.

The front door swung open just then, and in strode Detective Jack Morgan. The stern look on his face did not bode well. I wasn’t sure how much more of this I could take, but I needed answers. June and I exchanged quick glances and, at the same time, began firing questions at Morgan.

“Did you find the guy who started the fire?”

“Do you know why he was trying to kill us?”

“Have you found Hamm?”

“Where are Ruby and Roger?”

“Do they know the person who was found in the store?”

“What about the fake merchandise?”

“Did you see my cell phone?”

He never even blinked. When we were finally finished barraging him with questions, he spoke in a calm, measured voice. “Ladies, listen to me. Really listen. What I need from both of you is one thing and one thing only. For me to make any progress on any of this, I need for the two of you to get back to Beacon Pointe and stay there. I don’t care if you stay at the condo or one of your boats, just stay put. I’ll be in touch. Call me if you see or hear from Hammond. Other than that, stay put and let me do my job. I’ll come by tomorrow to get complete statements. Until then, don’t talk to anyone else, and most importantly, don’t go anywhere.

“Sirena, I’d like for you to stick close to home as well. I have a few questions for you too. But first, can you give these two a lift back to Cozy Cove so they can get in their little boat and head home? And I do mean straight home.”

Sirena’s lovely composed face crinkled into a look I could not decipher, but it was gone just as quickly as it had appeared. “Of course I’ll take them back, Jack.”

“Thank you, Sirena. I appreciate your cooperation and assistance.”

“Well then, whenever you’re ready, I’ll give you girls a lift back in my golf cart.”

I was feeling utterly drained and wanted to splash some water on my face. “Just let me make a quick pit stop before we get on our way.”

“Not a problem,” Sirena replied. “I’ll be right outside. Take your time.”

Once inside the tiny elegant powder room meant for clients, I turned on the faucet and cupped my hands under the cool water. When I straightened and reached for the fluffy white towel hanging on a silver ring beside the sink, I couldn’t help but see my reflection in the mirror. It took me by surprise. Staring back at me was the face of my teenage son. Dressed like a grocery deliveryman. I made a mental note to advise Ben not to grow a mustache. I finished up in a hurry, wiped the last of the mustache and adhesive off my face, and hoped I hadn’t permanently damaged Sirena’s pretty guest towel. Oh, well. At this point, that was the least of my worries.

Sirena and June were waiting for me outside in her company golf cart. I hopped once again on the rear-facing bench seat next to June, and Sirena put the cart in reverse, turned around in the gravel lot, and headed down the road toward the lake. The ride back to the dock took less than five minutes.

“Here we are,” Sirena announced, stopping the vehicle in the small lot of Cozy Cove. June and I hopped off the golf cart and headed toward Lynn’s jet boat, which was bobbing invitingly at the dock.

“June?” We both turned around. Sirena had followed us down the short dock.

Her arm was outstretched, and in her hand was a small gift bag.

“It’s not much,” she explained, “but maybe it will help relax you later. It’s just two samples of my calming lavender-vanilla glycerin soap that I make for my special customers. My own secret formula.” She smiled sweetly.

June accepted the gift with profuse thanks for all of her kindness. She was about to wrap her arms around Sirena in a no-holds-barred gesture of June-style appreciation, but just then, our new friend took a slight step back and clasped her hands behind her back.

“Safe journey!” she called brightly to us as we pulled away from the dock.

“Wow! She thinks of everything, doesn’t she?” June took one of the artfully wrapped bars of soap out of the bag and held it up to my nose so I could keep both hands on the steering wheel.

I inhaled its rich scent and agreed with June’s assessment.

“She does indeed. She does indeed.”

“I wonder if that list of ingredients you found is stuff she uses to make her soap. I think glycerin was on it, and she said one of the things the soap was made of was glycerin. There weren’t that many other things on the list, even though I’ve never heard of a few of them. If we could figure out the rest of the ingredients, I bet we could make some really nice-smelling soaps to give out for Christmas gifts. We’ll have to ask her about it.”

“Mmmmhhh.” I was having a hard time envisioning craft time, sitting around the dining room table making fancy soap for Christmas presents when everything was currently so out of control.

I eased out of the slip and set our compass heading in a straight line back to Beacon Pointe. The water was calm and the sun was bright in the sky. It could have been a typical summer day, except of course, for our outfits and the fact that someone kept trying to kill us. I looked back to the island, thinking I’d give Sirena a wave and a toot of the boat’s horn in a final gesture of thanks.

A soft breeze lifted Sirena’s coppery curls off the back of her neck as she drove her golf cart up the gentle incline leading back to her shop. She wouldn’t have been able to see us wave, so June and I just watched her receding figure as it faded out of our view. She really had the ethereal look of a mythical mermaid.

Then the smoke returned. Sirena was being swallowed up by an angry cloud of black smoke. In a matter of seconds, she and her vehicle were completely obliterated from our view. Before either of us had time to speak, our senses were assaulted a second time, but this time it was an ear-splitting explosion. I throttled the jet boat forcefully into neutral, then into reverse, in a futile attempt to point my way back to the entrance of the port, but it was no use. By the time I got close enough to re-enter the small port, police and fire rescue vessels were already descending on the scene. It’s a small island, and news spreads faster than warm butter on a biscuit around here.  The only thing left to do was to turn back once again and continue our journey back toward the relative safety of our home port. I couldn’t imagine what Jack would do if we showed up at the scene of another fire.

June’s eyes grew wide. “What’s happening? More smoke and fire. It seems like it’s following us, trying to choke or swallow us everywhere we go.”

“I don’t know. I feel like I’m stuck in a bad script and all the writers are on strike. No one is safe from the devious plans of this mysterious miscreant. What if Sirena’s hurt? I would never be able to live with the guilt, wondering if we were the actual targets all along.”

“I hate to admit it, Francie, but we kind of suck at this whole investigating thing. Maybe Morgan was right. Maybe we should lock ourselves behind closed doors until this is all over.”

“But we can’t just sit back and let this maniac carry on. We don’t even know why he wants us dead. He must have seen you the day after the fire at Ruby’s when he was talking to Roger. I guess you were right to be suspicious, but now we just have to keep trying to prove that this man is setting fire to everything in his path in order to cover his knock-off selling ass. We can’t let him hurt anyone else close to us.”

“I’m going to try calling Sirena. I can’t take not knowing what happened. I don’t want to hear about it on the six o’clock news.”

June retrieved her cell phone, which had miraculously survived the whole ordeal. Unfortunately, her expensive camera containing all the pictures she took of the evidence to support our theories had been destroyed. It seemed like we were right back to square one.

I watched helplessly as June tried repeatedly to get a connection through to Sirena. Everything was so surreal. It was the kind of day you dreamed about all winter long during Ohio’s endless weeks of frigid temperatures and drifting snow. The early-summer sun warmed our faces and shoulders and made the calm waters of Lake Erie sparkle. For a moment, it was possible to forget the sight of that black cloud lingering along a section of the shoreline. The casual observer wouldn’t think twice about it. It could very well have been someone’s first attempt at a summer barbecue. We knew, however, that it represented an attempt of a very different kind.

I continued steering our small boat slowly toward our home port as June disconnected the failed call one last time and tossed her phone on the floor of the boat in frustration.

“It went straight to voicemail.”

“I’m sure she’s okay. We’ll hear from her soon enough.”

“I hope you’re right. I have so many questions and no answers in sight. Do you think that the golf cart explosion was aimed at us? I mean, we were riding on it just minutes before Sirena took off.”

“I don’t know. This cloak-and-dagger stuff isn’t at all fun in real life. I’m just glad we are off of that island and almost safely back to the marina.”

Weekend boaters were all around us. June looked at all the happy people on the water taking advantage of the long Memorial Day holiday. There would be plenty of sunburned shoulders and noses tonight, but chances are, not too many people would be complaining.

“I bet we’re going to be the only ones around here tonight sifting through clues, trying to figure out the who and why of all these attempts at burning us down, blowing us up, or drowning us.”

I had to agree. “The only thing we have to be thankful for at this point is that the person responsible for our trouble seems to be even more inept than us at carrying out his plans.”

For a while things got quiet. Not feeling the need for any more excitement, I kept my speed to a minimum, deep in thought, replaying all of the disconnected events from the past twenty-four hours and trying to fit together some of the many puzzle pieces that somehow must interlock to explain the big picture: the tragic fire at Ruby’s, the horrific discovery of the unknown homicide victim in the attic, the stranger, and the second fire at the warehouse—and then there was the fact both June and Michael had both turned up unconscious on the beach and not least of all, Hamm’s inexplicable absence. Something sinister was going on, but what was it? And how did we all fit into the mix? Were we just unwilling participants in a heinous scheme or was there something more personal going on here?

June couldn’t keep still for long. She was tapping her foot to an unheard rhythm and her hands moved in sync with the engine of our little vessel. Both human and machine seemed to be buzzing with the need to pick up speed.

As an inexperienced boat pilot, June couldn’t offer to take the helm, so she had no choice but to occupy herself as we made our way slowly across the lake.

June snapped out of her reverie just in time to interrupt my own. “Look out! Francie, quick! Turn!”

Cranking the steering wheel of the boat sharply to the right, I narrowly missed being rammed on the port side by a rider on a shiny, black Jet Ski. This guy, dressed in a black, full-body, neoprene wetsuit complete with skull-hugging hood, was not jumping wakes for some afternoon jollies.

I straightened the boat out and was just beginning to readjust my heading when June’s bloodcurdling scream knifed through my brain and sent me into survival mode.

“He’s got a gun!”

I turned my head in time to clearly see the ghastly rider gripping the controls of his watercraft expertly with one hand, and with his other arm outstretched, pointing a big gun directly at us.

I jammed the throttle forward with everything I had.

“Hang on, June!”

Grabbing the side of the boat, June flattened herself and hung on for dear life. This could not be happening again!

A bullet whizzed by, missing me by inches. I could actually hear it. I wanted to crumple into a pile of whimpering, gasping terror. I needed someone to take care of me, to fix this. But there was no one; there was only me. So I did the only thing I could think of. I screamed. And screamed. And screamed.

Finally, over the sound of my own wailing, I realized that, like me, June was also screaming. Our screams turned into a fractured, squealing language that only the very best of friends could ever dream of understanding. Two things became certain: we were both terrified, and neither of us had anything even closely resembling a plan. The best I could do was to continue full speed ahead, weaving back and forth through the water and other nearby vessels so our demonic pursuer could not get a straight shot at us.

Another bullet barely missed us, smashing into a nearby metal buoy with a deafening metallic clang. I ventured a swift glance behind me and saw June still braced on the floor of the boat with her head practically inside my purse. She was oddly silent. I did a double take, checking to make sure all of her body parts were attached and intact, which thankfully, they were.

“June, please, you’ve got to think of something quickly before we are both killed!”

June silently lifted her face from the floor revealing a calm, determined expression; her fists were clenched around several mysterious objects. “Slow down and let Mr. Psycho catch up to us.”

“What? No way! You must have hit your head and forgotten what’s happening here. We’re trying to get away from this nut, not invite him aboard for snacks.”

“Just do it. I have a plan.”

With great trepidation, I eased up on the throttle. “This better be good, June, because otherwise, if we don’t die, I might just have to kill you.”

“Trust me. I’ve got this.”

Reluctantly, I shrugged. “Well, that’s more than I can say for myself. I’ve got nothing.”

What she had in her hands turned out to be a smoke bomb left over from last Fourth of July, a book of matches from the Island House, and the tube of mustache adhesive we had just used this morning when we still thought we were clever.

Keeping the boat at a moderate steady speed, I scanned the area continuously, keeping the Jet Ski in my sight at all times. It was getting closer. I was getting nervous.

“Whatever magic you have up your sleeve, you better do it now before it’s too late.”

After coating the smoke bomb in a thick layer of mustache adhesive, June struck a match and lit the wick.

Our persistent pursuer was now on our starboard side, perfectly matching our pace and heading. He was just lifting his right hand from the controls of the Jet Ski and steadying the hand holding the instrument of our impending death on his left shoulder, ready to deliver his fatal shot, when June stood up, leaned slightly back for balance, wound up and let it rip.

“Banzai!” She screamed like a woman possessed.

Her creation landed directly between the goon’s handlebars thanks to ten years of pitching on the freelance journalists’ co-ed softball team. A curtain of smoke shrouded both our attacker and his ride within seconds, and as we pulled away from the spot of impact, we looked back to see the Jet Ski lazily bobbing in the water minus one crazy rider. This time smoke had been on our side.

“Home run!”

“That was epic! I love you!”

We high-fived each other in delirious relief. We screamed again, but this time we were whooping in triumph. I smashed the throttle forward, and our wake was a glorious sight as we bee-lined it back to the safety of Beacon Pointe, the marina, and my cozy condo.

The entire nightmare ride had taken only fifteen minutes. We reached the marina, and I docked the jet boat safely back in Lynn’s slip. June gathered up our gear and scooped up the contents of my purse, returning things to a semblance of normalcy. In less than the time it would take to watch an episode of Everybody Loves Raymond, we had nearly died for the second time in as many days. When my feet hit the solid dock, I had to force myself not to bend down and kiss the ground. This latest adventure may have only lasted a few minutes, but I think it scared ten years off of my life.

“I think now is probably a good time to call in reinforcements. Let’s let the police take over this mess. I need a drink,” I announced. “A warm shower, my yoga pants, and a glass of wine.”

Having just cheated the grim reaper out of his daily quota, it seemed like the proper thing to do.