Sunny Side Up (Lake Erie Mysteries Book 1) by Maureen K. Howard
Authors: Maureen K. Howard
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She knew what I was doing, gratefully took the easy out, and helped me select my second purchase.
A tap on my shoulder startled me into a quick turn, and I came within an inch of running smack dab into Roger Burns. “Oh, hi there, Roger. What are you doing way over here on the mainland this morning?”
“Sorry I startled you. I thought you saw me earlier over by the barn. I figured you were heading over to say hello, and I didn’t want to be rude.”
“I didn’t even see you. I guess I was concentrating on finding June, and then I got sidetracked by a little shopping. It’s nice to see you though. Is Ruby here as well?”
“Uh, no she isn’t. I just had some business to take care of. Well, take care. See you soon.”
June and I stared at Roger’s back as he disappeared as quickly as he had arrived.
Our ride back to Beacon Pointe was sweetly uneventful.
By the time Hamm returned to the condo, laden with bags of nautical supplies, June and I were elbow deep in the kitchen, working on our respective dishes for the yacht club Memorial Day cookout later that evening. This was more like it: fresh ingredients from the market, Bloody Mary’s in a pitcher, cheese snacks on a plate, and the island sounds of Jimmy Buffet inviting us to find that lost shaker of salt. Hamm made himself comfortable on a stool at the kitchen counter, poured himself a drink, and spread some hot pepper jelly and cream cheese on a wheat cracker. Finally, the mood had lightened up a bit, and things were returning to a normal weekend pattern.
Hamm had chilled out and I was happy to discover he was in a talkative mood. “Honey, do you remember the Memorial Day excitement we had back when the kids were ten years old?”
“Do you mean the striking matches in the pocket excitement? How could I forget?”
“I know, right? We should write a book about the devilish shenanigans of pre-teens. On second thought, we probably shouldn’t proudly announce and describe in detail all the wool they managed to pull over our eyes.”
June swiveled her bar stool to face us. “Oh, this one I have got to hear.”
I smiled, thinking back to the return trip home from our Memorial Day weekend ten years ago. We had spent three days swimming at the beach, playing in the park, and watching fireworks from the back of the boat and were all exhausted on our car ride back home. The twins were in the backseat carrying on with their usual antics: teasing, poking, and generally just annoying each other. It was a typical ride home until smoke started filling the interior of the car and Ben yelled to pull over. Hamm swerved off the highway and Ben wasted no time jumping out of the car and proceeding to drop his shorts to the ground while running in circles and squealing. It turned out he had snuck some striking matches from the box by our grill in hopes of finding some sparklers or smoke bombs to claim for his own fireworks display. He never got around to using the matches for his intended purpose, thank goodness, but during their back seat scuffle, Ben wouldn’t stop teasing Beth, so Beth punched him in the leg repeatedly, and the matches did what they were designed to do—they ignited. The rest is history. This put a whole new spin on the phrase, “Liar, liar pants on fire.”
By the end of my rendition, June was laughing so hard she snorted. “How have I never heard that one before? I’m glad the kids were okay, but how long were they grounded for that little episode?”
“Let’s just say, the yard looked really nice for the rest of the summer, compliments of Beth and Ben landscaping.”
Chapter Thirteen
We arrived at the club around five o’clock. The doublewide trailer that was home to the yacht club, at least for one more year, had gotten a fresh coat of white paint this spring. The giant brass anchor fastened to the front of the clubhouse had been recently shined, and one of the green-thumbed members had planted red and white Impatiens in
A tap on my shoulder startled me into a quick turn, and I came within an inch of running smack dab into Roger Burns. “Oh, hi there, Roger. What are you doing way over here on the mainland this morning?”
“Sorry I startled you. I thought you saw me earlier over by the barn. I figured you were heading over to say hello, and I didn’t want to be rude.”
“I didn’t even see you. I guess I was concentrating on finding June, and then I got sidetracked by a little shopping. It’s nice to see you though. Is Ruby here as well?”
“Uh, no she isn’t. I just had some business to take care of. Well, take care. See you soon.”
June and I stared at Roger’s back as he disappeared as quickly as he had arrived.
Our ride back to Beacon Pointe was sweetly uneventful.
By the time Hamm returned to the condo, laden with bags of nautical supplies, June and I were elbow deep in the kitchen, working on our respective dishes for the yacht club Memorial Day cookout later that evening. This was more like it: fresh ingredients from the market, Bloody Mary’s in a pitcher, cheese snacks on a plate, and the island sounds of Jimmy Buffet inviting us to find that lost shaker of salt. Hamm made himself comfortable on a stool at the kitchen counter, poured himself a drink, and spread some hot pepper jelly and cream cheese on a wheat cracker. Finally, the mood had lightened up a bit, and things were returning to a normal weekend pattern.
Hamm had chilled out and I was happy to discover he was in a talkative mood. “Honey, do you remember the Memorial Day excitement we had back when the kids were ten years old?”
“Do you mean the striking matches in the pocket excitement? How could I forget?”
“I know, right? We should write a book about the devilish shenanigans of pre-teens. On second thought, we probably shouldn’t proudly announce and describe in detail all the wool they managed to pull over our eyes.”
June swiveled her bar stool to face us. “Oh, this one I have got to hear.”
I smiled, thinking back to the return trip home from our Memorial Day weekend ten years ago. We had spent three days swimming at the beach, playing in the park, and watching fireworks from the back of the boat and were all exhausted on our car ride back home. The twins were in the backseat carrying on with their usual antics: teasing, poking, and generally just annoying each other. It was a typical ride home until smoke started filling the interior of the car and Ben yelled to pull over. Hamm swerved off the highway and Ben wasted no time jumping out of the car and proceeding to drop his shorts to the ground while running in circles and squealing. It turned out he had snuck some striking matches from the box by our grill in hopes of finding some sparklers or smoke bombs to claim for his own fireworks display. He never got around to using the matches for his intended purpose, thank goodness, but during their back seat scuffle, Ben wouldn’t stop teasing Beth, so Beth punched him in the leg repeatedly, and the matches did what they were designed to do—they ignited. The rest is history. This put a whole new spin on the phrase, “Liar, liar pants on fire.”
By the end of my rendition, June was laughing so hard she snorted. “How have I never heard that one before? I’m glad the kids were okay, but how long were they grounded for that little episode?”
“Let’s just say, the yard looked really nice for the rest of the summer, compliments of Beth and Ben landscaping.”
Chapter Thirteen
We arrived at the club around five o’clock. The doublewide trailer that was home to the yacht club, at least for one more year, had gotten a fresh coat of white paint this spring. The giant brass anchor fastened to the front of the clubhouse had been recently shined, and one of the green-thumbed members had planted red and white Impatiens in
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