Sunny Side Up (Lake Erie Mysteries Book 1) (2 page)

Early Friday morning, we loaded up Hammond’s shiny black SUV and hit the road, making one quick stop at Starbucks for a couple steaming black coffees. As the city faded away in the rearview mirror, my mind drifted back to the late spring day seventeen years ago when our love affair with Ohio’s north shore officially began.

“I’m home, Francie. You look gorgeous, sweetheart. Is that a new outfit?”

He bent down and kissed me on the top of my head—the only portion of me he could find not covered in sweet potatoes and applesauce. I loved how he always complimented me even when I knew he had to pull out all of his lawyer tricks to keep a straight face.

“How are my little bumble bees?” Hamm swept our daughter, Beth, up in a big bear hug, ignoring the addition of orange goo from her adoring little face to his emerging five o’clock shadow. He gave her a twirl then set her gently down on the vinyl kitchen floor. Next he directed his attention to her twin brother, Ben, tickling him under his chubby arms. Ben squealed in delight then grabbed Hamm around the knees and stomped on his foot. It’s a good thing for Hamm that his darling son had pulled off his shoes and socks and launched them across the kitchen just a minute before his daddy arrived home from work. After their exuberant welcome home antics, the two-year-olds giggled and went right back to babbling on in the private language only twins comprehended.

“The coffee smells like heaven, Francie. I don’t know how you always manage to have a fresh pot on the counter when I walk through the door.”

“It might be my only carry-over skill from my former life,” I replied sweetly as I got up to pour him a cup.

After high school, I thought I wanted a career in law enforcement and was working as an intern to the Cleveland prosecuting attorney when I met the handsome law clerk destined to become the father of my children. Coffee making and serving was one of the very first skills I had mastered for my demanding boss. Over the years, I transitioned from my dreams of being an undercover sleuth to the satisfying reality of wife, mother, and eventually PhD in English and Drama. Now I got to take on alternate personas without risking my life. As far as I was concerned, I had it all.

Hammond loosened his designer yellow silk tie I had recently scored from the clearance bin at Macy’s. Even as a young mother, I’d always had an eye for fashion, a nose for a bargain, and a knack for dressing on a dime.

Settling into the red, vinyl-covered chair across from me, a smile spread slowly across my husband’s handsome face and lit up the tiny kitchen of our two-bedroom suburban bungalow.

“Spill it, darling! And I don’t mean the coffee.”

That goofy grin on his face was not a typical expression for my serious husband. I could tell Hamm had something he was itching to tell me.

Clearing his throat, Hamm began three times before he finally got it out. “Honey, umm, I, uh, I sort of put a small down payment on a used boat. Would you like to come with me to the dealer tomorrow and take a look before we finalize the deal?”

I gathered my wits, shut my gaping pie hole, took a deep breath, and said, “Are you sure about this? Can we afford it? Are the twins too young? Can you even drive a boat?”

“Yes. Maybe. No. And we’re about to find out.”

It took less than a week to become the proud owners of our first floating weekend home. The boat was small and light and didn’t handle well in rough water, but what did we know? We were officially boaters now and about to make the first of hundreds of this very same drive to the perfect weekend spot for affordable family fun.

My thoughts came back to the present as Hamm rolled up to the gate of Beacon Pointe Resort. The middle-aged guard in the gatehouse put on his glasses, adjusted the brim of his floppy hat, and inspected our residence sticker on the windshield. “Welcome back, Mr. and Mrs. Egge. Hope you had a good winter.”

“Thanks, Steve. The winter was uneventful, cold, and way too long, just like every year.”

I leaned across the seat and added, “We’re just excited to be back to our happy place!”

The guard raised the gate-arm and allowed us to enter the resort. The speed limit was ten miles per hour, just like it had been for over fifteen years. Children laughed and squealed on the swing set as we drove past the park. I remembered how my own kids had spent hours doing the same things, running and playing until dark when they were forced to come in, eat something, and crash, too tired even to protest, just to wake up early and do it all again the next day.

Fit, young athletes with earbuds and iPods checked their times as they jogged around the walking path. A couple, well into their eighties by the looks of them, strolled hand-in-hand along the same route. Geese honked and pooped everywhere. Some things never change.

We pulled up to the cedar and stone condominium we now called our second home. Fuchsia geraniums in white clay pots stood sentry on the front porch complementing the cream window trim and rich rose-colored front door. I stepped slowly out of the passenger door. Practicing a few yoga moves, I managed to loosen up the muscles in my back and legs that had tightened from spending over an hour in the car. I made my way out toward the backyard. Tall sea grass framed the restful view of the gray blue lake, and I inhaled deeply. Lucky for me, the breeze was out of the south, so I smelled blossoms and fresh air instead of dead fish. Off in the distance, boats dotted the water. Some were pulling water-skiers, others hauled kids in tubes, and there was one brave soul floating in the air above a boat with a parasailing logo emblazoned on its hull.

Entering the condo through the back door, I noticed the faint scent of lemon polish originating from the entry hall. Anna, our seasonal cleaning lady, had been here this morning. Gold flecks in the kitchen’s granite island sparkled in the afternoon sun. Real lemons and limes filled a glass bowl on the counter adding to the sheer citrusy pleasure of the room. I tossed my bag into our bedroom and returned to the kitchen to perform my seasonal ritual of opening and closing all of the cupboards and drawers, reacquainting myself with the whereabouts of the day-to-day trappings of what I thought of as my “real life.”

I noticed the open bottle of Ménage à Trois Hamm had already set out for me. I truly am spoiled. I’m by no means a wine connoisseur, but I have a few small quirks that make my drinking ritual special. I especially enjoy the gurgly, whiny song the red wine sings as it passes through the aerator into my awaiting stemware. I poured a small glass then made my way outside to the patio where Hammond was lounging in the sun, admiring the golden glow of his Jack Daniels on the rocks. He was about to light his first cigar of the season when the expression on his face turned stormy.

I followed his stare upward to the dark shadow descending over our patio. Some lunatic had actually released that parasailer, and the wayward adventurer was making a landing right on the beach behind our condo. The person touched down in the sand, and then forward momentum pushed both parachute and rider smack into the middle of the petunia bed that edged our patio. Hammond and I sprung out of our chairs and took cover in the doorway. Puffs of wind billowed out from the collapsing purple- and green-striped parachute while the daredevil it had carried thrashed around, struggling to get free. From beneath the folds of the tangled sail, a familiar voice sounded out.

“Hi, Doc! How’s it crackin’ Egg?”

June had arrived.

From the relative safety of the doorway, I stared at my windblown friend as she extricated herself from the silky fabric. Considering she had just fallen from the sky, she was remarkably calm and collected. She looked like a superhero just stopping by, and I easily imagined her leaping back up into the blue and flying off to save the world from mayhem. Hamm was more likely imagining her disappearing as he completed his “Woe is me. What did I ever do to deserve this?” eye roll and sigh.

It was pretty obvious that June’s juvenile greeting was not appreciated by my husband. Hammond Egge, Esquire is most definitely not an egg. His paternal ancestors hailed from Norway, by way of Bird Island, Minnesota. His family name, Egge, rhymes with ledge, but much to the chagrin of his entire family, most everyone finds it exceedingly amusing to make clever references to omelets, shells, and Mother Goose nursery rhyme characters when talking to him. June’s silly nicknames never bothered me, though, especially since I hung on to my maiden name. Dr. Francesca Orsini gets respect. Francie Egge, not so much.

“Looks like I’m just in time for cocktails! Are there snacks? I’m starving!” After flashing my husband her model-worthy smile, June strolled right past us into the kitchen, poured herself a generous glass of my Ménage à Trois, and began rummaging through the cupboards and fridge in search of snacks.

“I guess some sort of cheese plate will do.”

Hamm was looking at me in absolute disbelief. “Francie, I’m assuming I dozed off while waiting for you to unpack because I know it can’t be true that your nutty friend just landed her parachute in our backyard and then strolled into our kitchen to prepare snacks. Wake me up when the planet begins spinning the right way.”

“I’m confident the Earth is still rotating on its axis, honey. I guess June just didn’t have cab fare. Don’t be upset. At least she’s pitching in and preparing some food.”

“Seriously, Francesca? Well, there is that.”

When June reappeared on the deck, she was carrying a five-star presentation of hors d’ oeuvres: gouda and Swiss wedges alongside sesame and whole grain crackers artfully arranged on a beautiful artisan platter I didn’t even realize I owned. This was one of the reasons I loved June. She had a flair for the dramatic and a talent for improvisation that rivals even the best stage actress. She does especially well with other people’s belongings.

“So, June, that was quite the arrival. What’s up with the parachute? Was there road construction or something?” I was dying to hear this story.

Hamm chose to stare at his plate and munch his snacks in silence while June explained.

“I called a cab right after I talked to you last night. Traffic was light and we made really good time. After I unpacked my stuff at the houseboat, I decided to take a ride on the free shuttle boat across the bay to Sandusky and get a bite to eat at Famous Dave’s. I met the nicest guy while I was waiting for a table.”

“Well now, there’s a surprise.” I couldn’t help it.

“He has a new parasail business and offered to take me for ride. It was so cool I decided to go back today and practice some moves. Marley agreed to take me across the bay so I could surprise you guys. Did it work?”

“I would say so. I thought Wonder Woman was stopping by for tea. Would you like a refill on your drink?”

“Do you need to ask?” She reached across the table so I could top off her glass.

Hamm’s eyes were now closed as he listened to his favorite James Taylor album streaming on the music app of his smart phone. As I sipped my drink and basked in the warmth of the afternoon sun, I admired the purple streak in June’s ultra-short hair, wondering where she found the time to coordinate her hair color with her outfits. June, as usual, was ready to move on.

“So when are we leaving for the island? I just have to stop at the houseboat to take care of a few things. I can get there and back in thirty minutes. Or better yet, I’ll just meet you at your boat dock.” She popped out of her chair like Beth’s old jack-in-the-box and bounced through the house and out the front door.

“Did I miss something?” Hamm asked sleepily.

“June left.”

“But?”

“But what, Hamm? There’s no but. I was just thinking. It’s going to be such a beautiful evening. There’s no wind and the lake looks like glass. Wouldn’t you love to just hop in the boat and run it over to Kelleys tonight? Then tomorrow morning we can wake up and start our long weekend on the island bright and early.”

“That actually sounds good to me. I’ll help you clean up.”

“By the way, dear, June is meeting us at the dock.”

I grabbed our getaway weekend bag with the few essentials that weren’t already on board, and Hamm took charge of my suitcase. “I’m not even going to ask what you have in this thing. I’m just glad it has wheels.”

We locked the front door and headed up the path toward the boat docks. The marina section of Beacon Pointe was just a short walk from the residential district. Some folks liked to ride in their complimentary golf carts, but we preferred to cover the quarter mile or so on foot.

When we arrived at the boat, Hamm stood for a second and took it all in with pride. “You know, hon, no matter how many times we’ve done this, it still always feels like we’re coming home.”

“I know exactly what you mean. I feel the same way.”

Hamm and I were both looking forward to our first excursion of the season. I was already dreaming of fried fish and new flip flops, and I suspected Hamm was envisioning a long, tall drink and that cigar he never got around to finishing. As luck would have it, all these things would have to wait.

True to her word, within moments, June was hauling her backpack over the side of the boat and stepping onto the swim platform in new lime green and purple plaid boat shoes. Her camera case was slung around her neck, and the outline of her cell phone was clearly defined through the back pocket of her skinny purple jeans.

“Hey, lovebirds! Let’s get this show on the road.”

June’s voice had the effect of a rusty nail scraping across the door of a brand new Porsche. Hamm winced. June was oblivious. I was happy to be with my two favorite people.

Before Hammond could hyperventilate over the thought of June staying with us on the boat for three days and four nights, she reached into her chirping back pocket and pulled out her iPhone.

“Oh, good! Yes. Thank you so much. I’ll be checking in tonight and staying until Tuesday.”

June’s expression took on a mischievous look. There was a distinct twinkle in her eye now. “Yes, that’s correct. The credit card is registered to ‘Sea What’s Sexy.’ What? No! I am a writer. A professional! Well, never mind about that. I’ll see you shortly.”

June smiled as she wriggled her phone back into its snug resting place. “My boss reserved a room for me at the newly renovated bed and breakfast right next to Ruby’s Treasure Chest, so as soon as we get to the island, I can check in and then you and I can walk over and see what’s new at her shop.”

I was thrilled with the plan. I was also certain that even though Hamm was celebrating in his head after learning that June would be bunking nearby but in private quarters, he was at the same time fervently praying to every saint he could remember from his days in Catholic school that Ruby’s fabulous island gift store would be locked up tighter than Davey Jones’ locker by the time we got to the island. He hated shopping. In fact, he feared it.

June and I untied the boat lines and battened down the hatches. I must admit, I make a great first mate and June can definitely hold her own as a deckhand. Once everything was in order, Captain Hammond took his place at the wheel. He looked at his watch for about the tenth time in ten minutes, and I wasn’t sure if he was anxious to get underway or making sure he took long enough for Ruby’s store to be closed when we got to the island. I sat in my usual spot in the corner of the wraparound bench seat, facing the rear so I could look out at the water and the wake and feel the warm sun on my outstretched legs. The engines were warming up and Hamm was just about to put the boat in reverse when June stood suddenly and put her hands on her hips.

“Wait! We need to make a toast to our first boat ride of the year. I’ll grab a bottle of wine and some glasses and be right back.”

In an assertive voice worthy of any sea captain, Hamm countered, “You will not be drinking red wine in my boat! The last time you tried that, I was explaining all summer why I changed the deck carpet from tan to pink. I finally got the stains out, so no wine for you! Why do you think that floor mat is right under the spot where you like to sit?”

“Fine. A quick beer then? It’s just not right without a toast.”

“Cheers!” We clinked our bottles and toasted to a warm, sunny summer filled with good friends and new memories. Moments later, we were underway. Calm seas and the low, deep thrumming of the dual engines settled all three of us into a state of relaxed reverie. There was something special, too, about the smell of the fresh air, and the way the breeze ruffled my hair. Somehow, my thick, wavy hair always looked better after a boat ride than after an hour in front of the mirror with curling iron and hair spray.

I leaned my head back and closed my eyes; all was well in the world. I was just about to give in to the lure of sleep when I found myself struggling against gravity to stay upright in my seat. I looked toward June who was gripping the back of the boat seat with both hands. The long-necked beer bottle she had set on the table was now rolling around the cockpit floor leaving an amber trail of liquid in its path.

“Hamm, what the heck?” I couldn’t get his attention. He was clenching the steering wheel and maneuvering the boat into a steep turn. We were bumping and crashing over our own wake, and my teeth were rattling in my head.

“Hey, that wasn’t funny! And it’s not my fault that I spilled my beer.” June was trying her best to retrieve the travelling bottle with her bare feet, but it escaped her wiggling toes and continued on its wild course.

“I’m sorry, girls. Hold on. Some nut in a speed boat is riding up on our tail. He’s heading straight for us, and it’s a miracle we haven’t had a collision. I’m going to slow down now and hope he passes us. Then I’m calling the Coast Guard and reporting this menace.”

“Oh geez, some people just shouldn’t be allowed to operate a watercraft.” I straightened up in my seat and finally got a look at the fast-approaching vessel.

“Ouch!” Something crashed into my foot, and I noticed that my empty beer bottle had joined June’s in its race around the cockpit. I sure hoped they didn’t break because Hamm was always harping on me to drink out of aluminum cans. Yuck. The zippy little speed boat that was causing all the commotion had adjusted its course to match Hamm’s new position and was once again heading straight for us.

“I’ve had just about enough of this maniac.” Hamm maneuvered the shifters into neutral and jumped out of his captain’s chair to stand up and be seen. June was perched on her knees pointing her camera in our annoying visitor’s direction. No doubt she thought this would be a great action shot if the incompetent boater dared to come any closer. It was becoming difficult for me to stave off impending nausea since the smooth ride across the lake had become a bobbing and dipping float. What a way to get our vacation started.

Now that we were no longer moving, I could see the pilot of the little boat more clearly. He was looking directly at us, frantically waving his hands in the air, and still heading in a straight line for our starboard beam. At least he had slowed down. Maybe now the hole he was about to punch into the side of the boat wouldn’t cause us to sink quite so fast. Hamm stood with his feet planted wide apart and his hands on his hips as the man pulled up alongside us. I was having crazy thoughts about pirates and boat-jackers and was still concentrating on not throwing up. My slow, deep breaths weren’t working so well. I hyperventilated a little bit. June, on the other hand, sprung out of her seat and ran to the deck to stand in plain sight of the uninvited guest.

A huge grin spread across her face and she began waving and calling out, “Ahoy there, Marley!”

The smaller craft came to a full stop next to us, and I could now see the parasailing logo and phone numbers emblazoned on the hull and transom of the boat. Uh-oh, this wasn’t going to go over well with my husband.

June lost no time engaging in a spirited conversation with Marley, who was the color of my morning java, shirtless, and sporting some wicked dreadlocks. I could see why June struck up such an easy friendship with the guy last night and returned this morning for a second round of lessons with him. I couldn’t exactly hear what they were saying, and I didn’t want to attract attention to myself by moving in on them, so I sat very still and concentrated on my breathing.

Hamm snuck up behind me and hissed in my ear, “What in the hell is your friend’s problem?” And to make certain there was no mistake about his feelings, he added the death glare he reserved for just such occasions.

Apparently, Marley wanted his parachute back and had been on his way to the condo to pick it up when he noticed us leaving. He had a pair of college girls scheduled for a lesson in an hour and he didn’t have June’s cell phone number, so he followed us.

June apologized for being scatterbrained and explained where she had left his chute. And as quick as that, Marley revved his engine and took off back in the direction from where we had come. As soon as our path was clear, Hamm resumed his role of captain. He slammed the shifters into the forward position, throttled up, and pointed us back on course for our destination. I decided it was probably best if we remained low-key for the rest of our short trip. I picked up the empty but unbroken beer bottles and made a mental note to wipe down the fiberglass floor when we got to the dock, glad to see the carpet was not wet or stained. June plopped down on the seat, looking contrite and mouthing “sorry” in my direction. I gave her a thumbs-up and she responded with her best June grin.

Before we knew it, we could see the distinctive blue roof of Seaway Marina, the safest harbor on Kelleys Island. Hammond slowed the boat and eased into our assigned dock like the experienced skipper he was, and I hopped into action, determined to recover the light mood we had at the onset of our trip. Making my way to the bow of the boat, I had lines and fenders at the ready.

“Ahoy, mates. How was your winter?” Alex, the handsome, young dock hand, called out as he effortlessly caught the lines I tossed and secured them to the dock cleats.

“We’re happy to be back. What’s new and exciting on the island for this season?”

“Well, there’s a new chef over at West Bay Inn. Be sure to take a ride over there. You won’t be sorry. Oh, and there’s a new store you and your friend would probably like. I can’t remember the name of the place, but you can’t miss it. There’s a giant mermaid in the front yard.”

“A mermaid? Did you hear that, June? That sounds interesting.”

“Maybe that’s one of the new boutiques I need to check out for my magazine article. Sounds good.”

Just then I heard Hammond groan. “Oh greaaaat.”

I smiled like the Cheshire cat as I looked up from the neatly tied nautical knot I had just executed to see the lovely red door of Ruby’s Treasure Chest glowing just across the way beneath the brightly-lit “Open” sign.