“So, here’s what I’m thinking—we’re gonna drag two beat-to-crap dinghies down the beach, and we’ll prop them up over the entrance when we’re not here so it looks as if this was just an old boat rack or something. Nothing worth looking at let alone exploring. Get it? I also scoffed a padlock, just in case.
“You schmucks—not you Tommy—are you schmucks down with this?”
“Do I hear a hell yeah?!” Rick finished his plea.
Thirty seconds of silence just to bust his balls, was followed by a relatively enthusiastic, “HELL YEAH!” So, we finished it.
And that’s how we built The Hut. And man, was it great!!
Of course, if the worst came to worse and we were discovered, we always had our fearless leader, commander in chief, and bouncer-on-call up our sleeve, Tommy Bourdon, and that’s basically all we needed. If we were somehow discovered and harassed, he’d just punch some dude’s lights out. So yeah, between him and big, strong Patrick, we felt safe. Damn safe.
Ahhh, the joys of pure, unadulterated, unsupervised, foolhardy, adolescence.
Back to our finger problem…
The last thing in the entire world we wanted was to draw attention to The Hut or us. So we had a conundrum…
Tommy held court. “Listen up, boys; we’ve got decisions to make and secrets to keep.” He was succinct.
We huddled together close. In solidarity. Soldiers of Fortune jettisoned together by the haphazard randomness of a summer getaway. This was big. A mystery dropped in our unwitting laps. Action! Suspense! Perhaps torture!
Yeah, it might have been a little over dramatic, but hey…
Before Tommy could speak there was an argument brewing.
“We need to do something with it,” spouted Stevie Bird, devoted stator of all things obvious.
“Brilliant!” Ken Flaherty fired back, giving The Bird a quick noogie, just for good measure.
“No shit, Sherlock,” cackled Crazy Eddie, being as annoying as ever.
“How about if we stick it up your fat nose and twist it for good measure, Bozo?” came the typical Rick the Stick’s stab.
“Will you guys shut the hell up so I can hear myself think!” Tommy demanded. “Now, the way I figure it, we’ve got three choices.” He held the decaying digit up on display...
“We move it.
“We lose it.
“Or…
“We report it?”
So we moved it to the Blue Bench inside the pool and decided to solve the Island’s mystery ourselves.
Chapter 30
Hot
I was out jogging extra early that utterly scorching July morning, wanting to get my run before going water skiing with the guys to chase away some of this heat. I was running at a good clip, making my way beyond the dike to where the road starts to twist, with accumulating sweat dripping into my eyes, when I was suddenly flagged down by a sharp-looking gold-colored Oldsmobile convertible, with its ragtop down and two noticeably attractive women occupying the front seats. The back seat was packed tight with bulging suitcases.
The driver, a young, good-looking, perky brunette, was gesturing and waving for my attention (who…me??), which she most certainly had, as did her extraordinarily eye-catching, blonde-haired passenger. They slowly pulled over onto the edge of somebody’s lawn, and gently beeped, and then accidently beeped louder, flashing a bright smile and small laughs of apology in my direction. I self-consciously took off my suddenly overly saturated bandana while she spoke.
“Oops! Excuse me, young man?” Her voice was as silky smooth as her dark hair.
I nodded a quick hello then looked closer, and with one glimpse, was instantly lost for words. And all saliva. Wow, they’re pretty! My heart raced.
“Sorry to interrupt your run. Hi. Would you happen to know how to get to Mashnee Village? I know we’re close but those streets back there confused me. I feel like we’re driving off the end of the world,” she cutely added.
“Sorry to bother, we’re from Detroit,” the absolute blonde-bombshell of a passenger leaned over and added (Detroit instantly becoming my favorite city).
“Hi.” (Ok that’s a start.) “Sure thing, I actually live there (let’s leave my parents out of it),” I replied with newly found enthusiasm. Then I stepped closer toward the car until we were eye-to-eye, her’s a dreamy chestnut brown.
“Well, that’s great! My name is Maxine. Maxine Rochester. But everyone calls me Max. You can call me that. She—pointing at her passenger—is the fabulously famous, marvelously marvelous and bestest friend in the whole wide world, Miss Rochelle Varrrrrgas (rolling the r’s).”
Miss Vargas gently punched her shoulder. “Ohh, Maxine, stop embarrassing me…ha ha ha!” They both laughed hysterically like someone was gonna pee their pants at any second. “We’re renting a cottage there for a few weeks. We heard good things. Is it nice, young man?”
“Oh, it’s great. You’re gonna love it.” I suggested. “Everyone does (especially now!). Anyhow, it’s very nice to meet you both.” I put out my hand to shake Max’s—then leaned in to shake Rochelle’s as well, in all likelihood coming off a bit too formal—but enjoying every moment, despite my quickly flushing cheeks.
Even with the top down the entire car smelled a luxurious mix of fine perfume and mature womanhood, so much so, it nearly spun my head around and certainly sent me straight to heaven. At that moment I would have given two right arms, six left legs, and all my birthrights to be instantly older! “Abra Kadabra, Oh Genie, make me twenty-five!” Not fair!
“Ok. It’s super easy.” Replying as cool as the coolest cucumber on the shelf while pointing towards Mashnee. “This is what you do…”
And from that juncture on we were friends.
And, as it turned out, NEXT-DOOR neighbors. That’s right. Miracles of miracles, their rental cottage was directly next to ours on Clipper Road!! I mean, what are the chances? Luck be my lady tonight!
Wow, what a summer…
