In fact, there were so many in attendance we couldn’t squeeze everyone inside, even with the girls snuggled up, so a few hearty souls sprawled across the sand and seagrass, getting soaked, and not caring. At this impromptu meeting, there were major decisions to be made and serious risks to be calculated.
First, everyone had to be sworn to secrecy. Or re-sworn, if that’s even a word. Tommy made sure of that and we were eager to do so. “Listen up, ladies and gents. Ok. Here’s where we’re at. We’ve got more information on what’s going down on this island with the murder and finger, but we can’t have any of ya’s blabbing about it to another living soul. Everyone got that straight? If we’re gonna solve it we gotta keep our ears open and our traps shut. Meaning everyone. Got it (Tommy devil-eyeballing each one of us into submission)?”
“Well, gang, looks like we’ve got ourselves a prime suspect.”
“Wait,” chimed in Rick, “you mean someone from the bar last night?”
“Sure as shit,” Tommy continued. “Tell ’em about it, Rocket.”
“Yeah, so Burt Jones came through for us,” I started. “There was a meeting and it looks like our boy from New York wearing that golf glove and maybe minus a right pinkie finger, is looking for some sorta payback. Maybe even hired this real tall, tough chick to take somebody out! For real, man! We just don’t know who.”
“Then we gotta stake that shit out. Right, guys?” Ken and Patrick shouted at almost the exact same time.
“Coke’s on you, little brother (who nonetheless towered over him)!” said Ken, the eldest. “Whatda you guys think?” His eyes scanned around for confirmation.
“Hey guys—” Of course Mary Ellen needed to insert her “responsible” two cents “—you know that’s something we’ve been warned against and now with the cops on the bump and everything we could really get in big trouble. Shouldn’t we just turn everything over to the authorities at this point if we know something…or even our parents or someone?”
“Nooooooooooooooo!” The poor girl was unmercifully booed.
Well, that settled that.
“Now, guys. Here’s the plan…”
Everyone leaned in and huddled together as Tommy got down on one knee in the wet sand holding a pointed stick and drew a diagram… “Here’s the Club, here’s the back parking lot, and here’s our boy Mr. Pinky’s cottage…”
Chapter 54
Life
The allure of this precious little island was as much its people, as the topography. Judges lived in perfect harmony with janitors, lawyers with landscapers, and business owners with bakers. Point being, if you were staying on the island, you were not only welcome, but certain to receive more than your fair share of “hey, how ya doing’’ when you walked outside to collect your morning newspaper.
In fact, chances were good that somebody would quickly befriend you, enough so for an invite to their backyard BBQ or a few drinks at happy hour. Lots of life stories were conveyed with great interest paid at these pop-up gatherings of islanders as their voices and laughter grew louder throughout the night, decibels rising in direct relation to the amount of alcohol consumed! If loud was happy, then louder was happier, and Mashnee was certainly happy, peaking at about ten p.m., when the older crowd started to fizzle out and headed, or in many cases, staggered, back to their cottages.
It wasn’t like everyone was nice all the time, nor were the homes equal in worth or stature, Reginald Knight Senior’s house and Captains Row’s homes in particular, but in both cases, the vast majority of folks were.
Nosy neighbors? Most definitely. Gossipers, yes that too. But if you needed a hand moving something heavy, someone was there without asking. Get sick, chicken soup’s on its way. Going away and need things taken care of, done. Kids need a sitter, take your pick. Something needs fixing, handyman’s at your service, short on dough, an unmarked envelope with crisp, ten dollar bills appears in your mailbox. Simple stuff. Basic. Neighborly.
The passage of time only drew the community closer. Kids and adults alike. Special friendships. Unique. In some instances, life long, in others passing with the summer, each impactful. Beautiful. Good people doing good things to help good people. A village of happenstance neighbors, renters thrown together by the fickle finger of assorted yellow index cards, affixed on the rental office wall determining their cottage location.
Big shots and misfits. Neighbors and newbies. Each sharing their life. It was a good life. It was the best life. It was The Mashnee Life.
And while their moms and dads enjoyed rest and relaxation in Paradise with not a care in the world…
Their teenage kids tried to solve a murder. Oh, and an amputated finger. Ho hum.
Chapter 55
Peeper
On Mashnee, it was the standard to see new faces every weekend, sometimes every day throughout the summer. People of all shapes and sizes came and went with regularity, some of them noticeably stranger than others. It was something we took for granted, but not any longer. Everyone was a suspect and it was time to start watching them closer.
Take for instance our pinky-less suspect from New York who rented around the corner on Mashnee Road, always wearing that one white glove on his right hand. Except, I was certain, for the first time I saw him with both hands clearly void of appendedge. Strange. Anyhow, I didn’t see him often, only a few times really, once when he asked for directions and a couple of times outside his cottage, but he decidedly stood out, a great big rough-and-tumble-looking guy always looking jittery, like he had something to hide. just weird. And suspicious.
Me, Tommy, Patrick, and Stick were messin’ around one afternoon. It was one of those summer days where boys find mischief, mostly because our dads had banned us from going out on the boats for a while on account of the unfortunate incident with the Coast Guard having to rescue us, the battle with Memorial Beach kids, and of course the rumors about what happened one fateful night at the Trading Post. Although thankfully, they never did catch us, there were nonetheless certain rumors and pointed accusations made.
Your honor; we plead insanity!
The sun was hot, one of those days where your bare feet almost melted off your legs leaving nothing but stumps if you stood on the pavement for more than a couple of seconds, so we headed out for some heat relief in the form of ice cream. Tommy and Rick bickered heatedly (although Stick was a giant, Tommy could have kicked his ass in a split second) over what was the best flavor to eat on such a scorching day.
I didn’t much care what flavor, as long as it was chocolate, plus I just wanted to cool off. We talked about hitting the beach or water skiing at some point but once we had the idea of cold melty sweetness on our tongues there was no deterring us, as visions of Betty Anne’s decadent ice cream goodies danced in our heads. It was going to taste so good…
Just then, we spotted him, walking down Clipper Road with a slight gimp.
“Look, there’s our guy!” Tommy grabbed my elbow and pulled me behind a tree as the man passed by on the other side of the street. Rick stood out like a sore thumb, gawking around like he hadn’t seen a thing, while Tommy snarled like a rabid dog trying to make Rick hide with us.
We really shouldn’t have needed to hide. After all it was our island and this guy was trespassing as far as we were concerned. But we wanted to find out more about him—he was, after all, our #1 suspect—and no use having him see us. My highly accute investigatory mind jumped to all kinds of conclusions.
“Hey Guys,
“I wonder where’s going…?”
“I wonder who he knows…?”
“I wonder if he’s got ten digits…?”
“I wonder if we should follow him…?”
Tommy and Rick agreed. We discussed it the other night that we needed more information on this suspicious stranger. He wasn’t the type to smile and wave at people when they walked by. He didn’t come out much, though we didn’t see him at his cottage much either; lights were often off at night. When we did see him he seemed jumpy, nervous. Something was off, and I’d noticed. It all added up to a shit ton of suspicious behavior which led us to thinking he was hiding something. Maybe something big? Or in this case small. The size of a right digitus minimus manus? Hmmm. In our book it was fifty-fifty he was our man!
